Wolfskin
by natalieashe
Summary: Sherlock is dead and John has gone off the rails, sucked down into the underworld of London
1. Prologue

**A/N: Ok this is something completely new for me. I write plenty of paranormal own fiction, but have never applied it to the Sherlock universe before - this will either work, or be completely dire - if it's the latter I apologise lol Writing as I go again, which means I can't guarantee when I'll update, but I'd be grateful if you give it a chance. Kudos to bulletproofsince1999 for giving me the encouragement to try this out.**

Prologue

John Watson was inebriated. Drunk as a skunk, pissed as a newt, three sheets to the wind. Not quite falling down drunk, but definitely a bit unsteady on the old pins. Giggling drunk, laughing too loud drunk, dancing like an idiot drunk. Slobbering all over his date drunk, but she didn't seem to mind too much. What was her name again? Shirley, Sheryl, Sherl… Nope not going there… Shagnasty that was it! She was pissed too and was trying her best to perform a bit of dirty dancing on him but they were both a bit beyond any co-ordination. She gave up and tried thrusting her hand down the front of his jeans instead, slurring in his ear about going upstairs to find a bed to do the nasty. Sounded good, not sure the old dick was up for it, but she was enthusiastic that's for sure. House parties were never like this back in the day. He never got laid on the coat pile, or found some slutty girl to suck him off in the bathroom, but this girl… Shagnasty… she was going to do it. She was going to do him, at the grand old age of forty-something in a house full of kids barely out of their teens! He giggled, weaving through the press of pissed, sweaty students after her. She fell over on the stairs, dragging him down on top of her and wrapping her legs round his waist, skirt riding up to expose tomorrow's laundry. "Let's just do it here, no one will care," she giggled, grabbing his hand and pushing it between her legs.

"Up you come," said a dark chocolate voice, large hand clasping around his upper arm and pulling him off the girl. He resisted, wriggling in the taller man's grasp, but he was too strong. The girl had lost interest anyway, spying someone she knew across the room and wobbling away, her date forgotten. He looked up. And up and up, to the pale thin face and mass of inky curls, the full curving lips and shrewd pale eyes. And the bottom fell out of his world. "Whoa, there you go… Bit too much pop, mate? Think you need some fresh air. Come on." John's mouth worked silently, forming the name over and over that refused to become a sound. His legs threatened to give out again and he threw his arms around his friend. His perfect, dead friend. He stood on tiptoe, reaching as high as he could on jelly legs and pressed his mouth wetly against the taller man's lips. "Affectionate little thing aren't you?" his friend said, guiding him out into the dark garden and propping him up against the wall.

"I'm never letting you go Sherlock," he slurred, "never again, you hear?" He pushed off the wall, stumbling heavily into the broad wool coat covered chest. Strong arms encircled him, lifting him to his toes. He smashed his mouth against Sherlock's again and this time his friend possessively thrust his tongue between his parted lips and gripped his arse cheeks with long strong fingers.

"I don't know who the fuck this Sherlock is, man, but I think you and me should get real close. Forget the girl." He pulled John along, down to the deep shadows at the bottom of the garden. John stumbled after his friend eagerly and dropped to the lawn, letting his dearest friend press him into the grass and rub at his growing erection through his jeans. Sherlock was back, Sherlock kissed him, Sherlock was going to… Fuck no, Sherlock was dead! That's why he was here at this stupid party with the vacuous girl, getting pissed and getting laid. The anniversary. This was impossible! "Stop wriggling, man; I'm going to make you feel so good." The voice deepened to a heated growl, the full weight of his body on John's, rough hands pushing his jeans and pants down his thighs, flipping him over to lay face first in the grass, breathing in the earth. The man-who-was-not-Sherlock pinned him, hot breath searing the back of his neck, teeth clamping hard on the flesh of his shoulder. Sharp teeth, impossibly sharp. Hard fingers roughly breached his hole, no finesse or care, just agonising pain that jolted him back to his senses and forced his fight response. He kicked, bucked, rolled and yelled, until he finally blacked out from the ripping pain in his neck.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Well, short version… Not dead."

Sherlock-fucking-Holmes stood before him, dressed in a tuxedo and sporting a bizarre drawn on moustache, looking slightly discomforted by his stricken expression. All the blood in his body seemed to have sunk into his feet causing his legs to be leaden and his heart to stutter in his chest as if it may actually stop beating from the shock of seeing the detective standing in front of him, larger than life and twice as awkward.

"Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defence, it was very funny."

Funny? Not nearly. John fought to get himself under control, shooting surreptitious glances around the room, looking for the quickest exit in case he needed to use it, but keeping half an eye on the exchange between Sherlock and Mary. Mary looked horrified, as well she might. This could very well undo all her carefully constructed plans and throw him right back to square one. He scanned the room with a rapid flick of his eyes, noting the position of every diner and waiter, seeking out the path of least resistance. First rule, establish your escape route. He swallowed hard, suppressing the low growl of anger that threatened to spill from his lips.

"You died. You jumped off a roof."

"No."

"You're dead!"

"No. I'm quite sure. I checked. Excuse me."

Sherlock picked up a napkin and dipped it into Mary's water glass, using it to scrub away the fake moustache. One or two diners had started to notice that something unusual was going on at their table, but Mary was too distracted by the tall curly-haired man to think of getting them out of there. She was the tactician and level head of their set up, but she had given him no signal that they needed to leave so she obviously didn't think Sherlock was a threat. _Not to my body anyway. My sanity is a different matter._ He gazed at the detective furiously. What the fucking-hell was he doing here? He was _dead_ for fucks sake! John sucked in a deep shaky breath, and another, fighting against the sudden awareness that stirred inside him. That other part of him lifted its muzzle from its paws and sniffed the air seeking out the source of his distress. It whined softly into the night and he slammed his fist into the table, trying to ground himself in the here and now of the restaurant. Immediately Mary's eyes were on him.

"All right, just ... John? Just keep ..." She didn't need to say it, he just pulled in another deep shaky breath before looking up at Sherlock.

"Two years." He said in a deadly quiet voice, shaking his head and taking another controlled breath. "Two years. I thought ... I thought ... you were dead. Hm?" He fought to control his breathing, to slow its intensity and not attract the attention of his _other_, but anger was taking over, sucking him under. "Now, you let me grieve, hm? How could you do that? _How?_"

"Wait, before you do anything that you might regret ...Um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um… Are you really gonna keep that?" The smirk was the final straw. It was either punch the bastard, or risk carnage in the restaurant when his other self broke free. The huge sandy coloured wolf was already on his feet looking at him in his mind's eye and challenging him to turn it back. Its pink tongue lolled from its powerful jaws as it stretched, preparing for the fight. Mary should have gotten them out of there, but now it was too late. With one more breath he hurled himself at his dead friend and brought him down, hands around his throat, squeezing the life out of the bastard.

John's one wish for a miracle was for Sherlock not to be dead, and here he was acting as if the last two years had been no more significant than a two week holiday in the Canaries. He'd listened to Sherlock's explanation of how he'd faked his own death and his reasons for not telling him he was alive. He'd caged his wolf successfully so far, letting rip with good old fashioned human violence when Sherlock pissed him off with his explanation once again and now he stood in a kebab shop listening to the detective accuse him of over-reacting and punctuating his rant with shushing. Finally he came to the point, asking for help to uncover an imminent terrorist attack. Furious though he was, John's interest was piqued.

"You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the two of us against the rest of the world ..." It was too much, too close to what his world had become. He was the hunter. He had felt his muscles bunching and stretching as he tore across the earth in pursuit of his prey. He had exhilarated in the rush of blood and adrenaline that kick started the chase. He had experienced joy and desire when his jaws clamped down on the exposed throat of his victims. He would know none of this if Sherlock had not died. John grabbed the detective's lapels, reared backwards and landed his head squarely on Sherlock's nose.  
_  
_


	3. Chapter 2

He crawled on his belly through the thicket, squeezing out of their hiding place where they'd stowed their bags. The other wolf laid waiting in the shadows, relaxed but alert to any threat. The royal parks of London were never truly deserted even in the early hours, but this was the most accessible green space for a run without having to drive out of the city. It had been more than a week since his last run and the need to work his lithe body was strong.

He greeted the other wolf, licking her muzzle, and she stood so he could brush along her flank, circling her and dropping to the ground by her feet. She regarded him with bright gold eyes, licking at his mouth. Suddenly she gave a sharp nip to the back of his neck and she was off, racing away across the manicured park with him in hot pursuit. Running was a joyous thing. Every contact of his large paws with the ground propelled him forwards, muscles rippling under the sandy fur. His partner was cautious even in her flight, leaping between the shadows cast by the trees, darting in and out of the bushes, but he just needed to run, streaking across the lawn, making charges at his running mate that she rebuffed easily. She would be in season soon, he could smell it on her, and it would be too dangerous to run then, so they needed to make the most of this opportunity.

Suddenly he was knocked off his feet, and the pair of them tumbled like cubs into the shadows, mock fighting and nipping. After wrestling for a few moments he went still, belly up and throat exposed to her strong jaws. She closed her teeth on that vulnerable point, pressing gently until he could feel her teeth through his thick fur. His eyes showed white at the edges but he lay unmoving, submitting to her authority. She growled lightly, a laugh, and released him, dropping to his side and panting heavily. _You surrendered too quickly._ He just huffed, dropping his head on her back.

She sat up, suddenly alert and sniffing the air. _Hunt?_ She asked silently. He sat up too, ears flicking to pick up the tiny sounds of prey animals. There were rabbits around, a few rats and plenty squirrels; he hated squirrels, taunting little beasts that sat at the base of trees until he was a whisker away, and then darting up into the boughs chattering at him. Their scents mingled with the confusing tantalising cocktail of exotic animals from the zoo on the other side of the park. He whined his assent. _Rabbit?_

_Wolf!_ He skittered away from her, circling to pick up the scent of another wolf in the mass of alluring smells on the light breeze. He thought he caught it to the north but in the next breath of air it was gone again. Instead he cast out with his mind, seeking to touch the awareness of another, only to drop to the ground with a pained whine when the other mind flared white hot in his brain. _Male. Not Pack. Sick. _But definitely north. He loped towards it, establishing a steady pace that his partner easily matched. _Caution_, she urged. The thought he returned was dismissive of her care and she snacked her jaws at his tail angrily as it bobbed in front of her.

They happened on the scent trail of the other wolf by chance as they progressed north. It was fresh, no more than an hour old and unfamiliar. _Is it him?_ He took time to absorb it, trying to match it to a distant memory of a man from _before_, when he didn't yet have the enhanced senses he currently possessed. No, he was certain. The man they sought had been Pack once, so long ago his connection was faded but enough to transfer its diluted familiarity to him. He would never truly be Pack himself because of it, but he was tolerated. He tried to communicate that wordlessly to her and she responded, rubbing the length of her body along his, strengthening their bond through scent.

_This one has never been Pack. Feels wrong._ He was reminded of the time following one of his earliest changes when he'd found a dead hedgehog and tried to play with it. The putrid stench of rotting flesh had taken days to leave his nose and the spines that punctured his muzzle had ensured a course of high-strength antibiotics. The sickness that rolled off that brilliant white _other_ felt like a mental version of the same, but a dozen times more intense. He pawed at his nose attempting to rid it from his mind. _Come on._

They reached a low rise and halted, sniffing the air cautiously. The wolf scent was strong here. He followed it to the west a little way, nose to the ground, while she crept low on her belly towards the summit. Suddenly a blur of black fur surged over the hill falling on her back and sinking his teeth into the scruff of her neck. Instinctively she dropped, making herself small so his momentum carried him over her body instead of pinning her, but his hold still caused them to tumble down the bank, a mass of silver and midnight fur with gnashing teeth and raking claws. Her fury and fear spiked through the Pack bond, a rush of adrenaline that had him dashing to her aid, lending his own weaponry to the fight.

The black wolf was a strong and skilled fighter, agile and determined to inflict damage, but the other two were a practiced team and soon they had the upper hand. He drew blood, jaws closing hard on the black wolf's forepaw, making him yelp and rear away straight into the waiting claws of his partner. She raked down his muzzle, snatching her own paw away a split second before their opponents teeth clashed together on thin air. He released the paw and in that moment the dark wolf turned tail and fled, sending a wave of mental pain through the other two. Both fell to the ground panting through the nausea as the wolf disappeared into the night.

_No pursuit_, she commanded and he was happy to obey, muscles aching and sore. He allowed her to check him for injury, her soft breath huffing over his fur and tongue licking at the occasional graze. When she was satisfied he was unharmed she allowed him to do the same for her. He was methodical and thorough, an echo of his medical career in human form, insisting on inspecting every square inch of her body. When he reached her rear he began to show altogether too much interest and she turned to nip him. He bared his teeth in a grin, nudging her playfully. _Not here. Not like this._ She loped off towards their hidey-hole where they'd left their clothes, checking once to make sure he followed.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Horror isn't really my writing genre so this may fall short of scary, but hopefully it may make you go 'eww!' in the right place lol This story will jump backwards and forwards in time - if I'm in italics from now on, it means it's 'the past', and hopefully it won't get confusing! As always, reviews appreciated :-)**

_Chapter 3_

_John woke to agonizingly bright artificial light and tightly tucked bed sheets. Neither would indicate he was home in his own bed, so presumably he got lucky at the party, but really…? Did she have some kind of nursing fetish, wrapping him up in bed so tight he couldn't move? Apart from the pain of the gunshot, his abiding bad memory of his hospital stay in Afghanistan was over-zealous nurses and their bed-tucking. He turned his head to see if the girl was still in bed with him and gave a yelp of surprise to find Mycroft Holmes by his bedside, calmly reading the newspaper. Sensing movement he lowered the paper and grimaced at the former army doctor._

"_Doctor Watson! So glad you decided to re-join the land of the living at last." He folded the newspaper tidily and placed it carefully on the bed, crossing his legs and flicking imaginary lint from his trousers. "I was starting to think you'd given up. Decided to fade away to join my brother."_

_John scowled at the thin red-haired man's patronizing smile. "Where am I?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows and pointedly looked around the clinical white room with its beeping machinery and pristine metal framed bed. John followed his eyes up the length of the IV stand that was delivering fluid into the cannula in his arm. "Ok, _**which**_ hospital? Not Bart's."_

"_Good Lord, no. There isn't a hospital in London, NHS _**or** _private that could handle your particular malady. You are in a specialist facility that deals in… containment."_

_John inspected the IV bag but there was nothing on it to indicate its contents. Antibiotics probably. He didn't feel any kind of wooziness often associated with intravenous analgesics, and he wasn't aware of any pain. _

"_Wait. So I'm in some kind of quarantine for infectious diseases? And yet you're sitting there right by me, totally unconcerned; not even a rudimentary face mask. I don't believe the great Mycroft Holmes is any more immune to contagion than the next human being. So what have I got? And how? I was at a party last night…"_

"_You were here last night. In fact you have been here for three weeks. You were brought here directly from the party following the… incident. Unfortunately the perpetrator escaped which is something we must remedy; however, my priority is getting you back on your feet."_

"_Very noble of you Mycroft. I didn't believe you had a caring bone in your body. Sherlock never seemed to think so." John couldn't figure out how Mycroft had even known he would be at a party, and he felt discomforted the other man had been keeping tabs on him since Sherlock's suicide. His activities had become altogether less wholesome over the last year, not something he was proud of._

_Mycroft chuckled. "I would not disappoint you Doctor Watson by claiming to be a caring individual. I do however have a keen sense of justice, and Sherlock would want me to ensure that punishment was dealt where deserved. Firstly… you asked me a question about your disease?" John winced at the word _**disease**_, his guilty conscience bringing up all he could recall about STDs but quickly dismissing them. None that he was aware of would require him to be contained in a hospital room that appeared to have a reinforced steel door and no windows. He just nodded at the man to continue. "What do you know of lycanthropy Doctor?"_

"_Um… it's a delusional psychosis in which the patient believes they can, or have, transformed into an animal, generally a wolf. Rare, I believe. Not something I've encountered in my career."_

"_I'm speaking of the blood-borne disease that causes significant biological changes in the human body. It is incurable, I'm afraid."_

_John stared at him open-mouthed, his lips finally twitching into an incredulous grin. "Well, well, Mycroft Holmes has a secret." The thin man inclined his head, waiting for him to continue. "Mycroft Holmes is a fan of bad horror; who would have thought it? It's a fantasy, a fiction!" he guffawed, slapping a hand against the covers gleefully._

"_And yet here we are you and I. I can assure you Doctor Watson, lycanthropy is quite real, and as I said, sadly incurable. All we can do is teach you to manage your condition." The elder Holmes wasn't smiling, his face a blank mask in the face of John's giggling disbelief. He sighed and stood, looming over the chuckling man. "Perhaps a demonstration?" _

_He laid one hand on John's belly, which was weird enough, and stared down at it with a look of intense concentration. John glanced curiously at the odd man and then down at his hand. Mycroft's fingernails began to thicken and form into claws, the joints on his fingers reversing and his thumb contorting and shortening until a huge hairless paw rested on his stomach. John retched and fought to swallow bile, breathing heavily and scooting up the bed away from the horrific thing that had been Mycroft's hand. The other man was sweating and panting with the effort of the partial change, all his customary composure shattered. When John started gagging again, drawing his knees up to his chest and dropping his forehead to rest on them, Mycroft wheeled away cradling the paw in his unchanged hand and leaned heavily against the wall, gasping through the pain as the change retreated._

"_Oh my god, fucking _**hell**_, oh god, what the actual _**fuck**_? Mycroft what the _**fuck**_?" he babbled, voice rising and becoming shriller in his panic. He daren't raise his head for fear of what he might see. His breathing was all to hell and he couldn't seem to get it back under control. When Mycroft gently touched his shoulder he screamed, curling into a ball as far from the other man as the IV would allow._

"_I'm sorry," Mycroft said regretfully. "I believe that was necessary, but obviously distressing for you. You will have questions, which I'll try to answer in good time, but right now I think you could do with a break from my company and some food. I'll have something brought to you. When you're ready to talk have someone send for me."_


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Short chapter, sorry, but back to the 'present'. Thank you for my reviews so far, they are very encouraging for me to keep writing and dear guest - I promise I will endeavour to complete this story and not abandon it halfway through, if at all possible.**

**A/N: I must also credit Ariane DeVere's work for the episode transcripts i use in this story. Not sure how to add a link but it can be found on livejournal via any search engine.**

Chapter 4

"All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical."

"Boring. Your move."

"We have solid information. An attack is coming."

"Solid information. A secret terrorist organisation's planning an attack – that's what secret terrorist organisations do, isn't it? It's their version of golf."

"An agent gave his life to tell us that."

"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. He was obviously just trying to show off."

Mycroft was doing his best to hide his frustration with his brother, humouring him through his insistence they played childhood games. He had shunned the chess set deeming strategic games too distracting, but Operation was one of the more annoying options Sherlock favoured. When he triggered the buzzer trying to extract the broken heart he uttered a frustrated "Oh, bugger!"

He didn't blame Sherlock's blasé attitude to the loss of an agent. He involved his brother for his deductive skills and ability to identify patterns where others only saw chaos. He was never - _rarely_ - hindered by sentiment. For Mycroft the loss was painful, however he hid it well, arranging his face to betray no grief. Marcus Pinder was an exceptional agent serving his country, senior intelligence agent for the Pack and for three blissful months before his final mission he had become Mycroft's...

"... Goldfish" finished Sherlock with a smug half smile. Not exactly how he would have described Marcus, an exceedingly clever man, but he understood what his brother was alluding to. Mycroft was talented in selecting partners who rivalled his own discretion and secrecy, essential for any man who wished to involve themselves with the hand of the British Government in a romantic sense. It bothered him that his brother had possibly deduced the existence of a relationship, even if not it's nature. He stood and crossed to the fireplace.

"Change the subject – now!"

"Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre."

Mycroft wished the secret would hurry up and reveal itself; he was growing impatient and that was a rare condition for him. The British Secret Services were digging like manic miners trying to find more data, but so far they were drawing a blank. His other resources including John Watson were working overtime, but the Pack mourned their brother, and the doctor was still preoccupied with his friend's unexpected resurrection. Sherlock was his link, a bridge between worlds, the centre around which everything revolved, but today he was determined to play. He tossed a woollen hat to Mycroft asking "What d'you reckon?" The sour smell of a man with appalling halitosis assaulted his keen nose making his eyes water, but he played along, batting deductions backwards and forwards like a verbal tennis match until Sherlock wrong- footed him again by inferring there was something lacking in his life.

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock." He avoided Sherlock's intense gaze aware his brother had the uncanny ability to see too much.

"How would you know?"

_Because there is a man who cares for me and who has promised to make me whole again, but I need to bring Marcus' killers down before my heart is free. That is why I brought you back, brother dear._

"Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Good morning."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The sandy wolf crouched in the shadows of the wall by the derelict building, ears flicking, seeking the conversation of men up ahead. Somewhere to his right his silver-furred Pack-sister hunkered down, edging towards the weed-strewn courtyard from the south, her mind a steadying presence at the back of his own. She had given him the order to stay put, an instruction that chafed at his need for action, but he understood the need for rank from his army days and reluctantly obeyed. To the north he could sense their _third_, creeping towards the men too. He was anxious for some reason, wanting to rush towards the centre of the action but forcing himself to crawl forward inch by inch, senses on high alert, checking in mentally with the rest of the Pack.

Up ahead their Alpha stood in human form, calmly taking in his surroundings. He had chosen the place for this meeting so was confident he had the upper hand, but never arrogant in that assumption, hence the Pack discreetly surrounding the abandoned factory complex by the Thames. No doubt his adversary had taken his own precautions and henchmen were stationed around the dilapidated buildings.

"Halt!" The message came through the Pack bond clearly. His partner had taken charge of this mission, even though she hadn't been specifically allocated it. Earlier, before the tension had overtaken them, they had gambolled like cubs along the banks of the Thames, nipping at each other's heels and wrestling for dominance. He had submitted easily and without regret, but their older companion had thought it beneath him to yield to a female. He had charged her, pinning her to the sticky mud and closing his jaws on her scruff, all but mounting her, but he didn't complete the final act. She wasn't receptive yet. A few more days and being around the males of the Pack would be dangerous for her, but right now her scent was alluring without being overpowering, meaning she could get away with a little manipulation of the balance of power.

They were in place now, exactly where they needed to be to protect their Alpha. A sleek black car pulled alongside the one that already stood silently in the pool of moonlight, and a moment later a man alighted, smartly dressed, wavy hair, self-assured. He carried a slim document case under his arm. They did not shake hands, each regarding the other warily. Stilted conversation was exchanged but the words meant nothing to listening wolf ears. Body language however screamed aggression and dominance, a non-combative fight for power directed by stance and posture. He felt the low growl of their _third_ tremble along his spine making his own hackles rise. "Stop it!" he decreed, whispering the words through a muzzle not designed for human speech, but he was up on his paws tasting the air. A breath of wind brought the other man's scent to the west and immediately he dropped to the ground, whining. _Him!_

The silver wolf froze, attention diverted from their Alpha to the distress bleeding through the Pack bond. She whined too, instinct telling her to rush towards her Pack-brother, duty telling her to stay on-mission. Their _third_ was growing agitated, confused by his concern for his Alpha and the strong emotions that threatened to render them all useless if they weren't reined in. _Later! _ He sent forcefully. A bright movement caught his eye and instantly he was on alert. It seemed like the men had concluded their business, documents having changed hands, overly-civil pleasantries exchanged, but _something_ had caught his attention. And then he saw it. A sinister red dot wavering between Mycroft's shoulder blades. The others couldn't see it from their position, and even if they could, the three were all too distant to bring their Alpha down out of harm's way before the sniper took his shot. In desperation he tried the one thing that had so far eluded him - he reached out his wolf to brush the mind of another in human form. He sent one emotion as strongly as possible to the woman who waited in the car. _Danger!_ He felt her look up from her Blackberry with a small smile and a moment later all hell broke loose.

Mycroft and Moran dropped to the floor, their respective changes roiling over them, cracking and realigning bone and sinew into their other form. Fur flowed like water down their backs, clothes shredded from the violence of the reconfiguration of their bodies, until they both crouched in a fighting stance. Moran was the larger of the two, blue-grey in colour with thick shaggy fur. Mycroft's wolf was leaner and echoed the slight reddish brown of his human hair. The sandy wolf sent his warning again. _Danger. It's him!_ He had no word for 'sniper' instead sending a memory of the intense pain of the gunshot to his shoulder, hoping it would get his message across. Mycroft reacted, leaping sideways away from the wavering red dot a fraction of a second before a bullet pierced the door of Moran's car. The blue-grey wolf fled leaving his driver to fend for himself, but Mycroft turned towards where he believed the sniper to be concealed and hurtled towards him at a breath-taking place.

From the north a dark brown wolf joined him - their _third_ - and within a couple of strides his partner's silver form flanked his other side. They raced towards where he waited, not breaking stride as he flipped his body and joined the chase, bringing up the rear. The stairs slowed them down, the narrow climb not easy to navigate for four huge wolves travelling at full pelt, and by the time they made the second floor the sniper was long gone. Mycroft whined his frustration, searching the floor with his keen nose, but there was nothing to find.

**A/N: Yes I know some of you will be going 'Mycroft, alpha?' - trust me, I know what I'm doing - sort of ;-)**


	7. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

_John sat alone in the hospital room. It was baking hot and he'd already stripped to his pants. He didn't think removing them would help so he suffered stoically through the dry heat, imagining he was back in the desert and compensating with jugs full of iced water. The cannula in his arm itched but the nurse refused to remove it, simply checking it was still sited correctly and was free of infection. He couldn't remember the last time he slept; he was exhausted but he didn't dare close his eyes for a moment in case... in case __**it**__ happened, and he didn't even know what __**it**__ was! Here in the windowless room he had no clue how close a full moon might be. Not that he believed Mycroft's explanation for a second; he had formulated a logical explanation for the red-haired man's little parlour trick that made sense in his head._

_There was a brisk knock on the door and Mycroft let himself in, closing it behind him and ensuring the latch engaged before shrugging off his jacket and laying it neatly over the end of the bed. John hadn't sent for him, but the older man had decided it was past time for coddling the doctor and it was time he faced up to his new reality. "You look dreadful," he observed. "Are you sleeping?"_

_John shook his head. "Too damn hot in here. If I'm to be kept prisoner could you at least get them to turn the thermostat down? Sure it's against my human rights to be held in excessive temperature."_

_Mycroft removed his gold cufflinks and rolled up his shirtsleeves, tugging his tie loose and unbuttoning his waistcoat. It was the most casual John had ever seen the elder Holmes brother. He found himself focussing on Mycroft's exposed forearms with their light dusting of freckles and pale gold hair, every one distinctly visible. He deliberately ignored that, refusing to believe his eyesight had improved so drastically. It was merely a trick of the light. _

_John was seated in the only chair so Mycroft stood in front of the short man with his arms crossed. "Your internal temperature has risen by around four degrees Celsius. You're running at around forty-one degrees. From now on you'll be generally hotter, although this significant rise is temporary. Once you experience your first change you'll settle at about 39.5C. And you're not a prisoner as such; you're here for your own safety as well as the safety of others."_

_"This is Baskerville isn't it? Or some other similar establishment and I'm a... a __**specimen**__ in some sort of hallucinogenic suggestibility experiment." John interrupted._

_Mycroft sighed. "When did you last receive any medication?"_

_"Eight hours ago," John checked the white plastic clock on the wall._

_"So you would agree you are currently free of any chemical influence?" John shrugged his assent. "Then I shall repeat my demonstration."_

_"__**No**__**!**__" John balked at witnessing the horror over again. That hairless paw resting on his stomach had appeared in his nightmare, slashing across his belly and spilling his guts while a man-who-was-not-Sherlock laughed in his face. "No, just... Talk to me."_

_"Fine. Are you eating and drinking?"_

_"Ravenous all the time. Six cooked meals every day and snacks on the hour. Can't seem to satisfy my appetite. Drinking gallons and it needs to be ice cold or my stomach rejects it."_

_Mycroft nodded as if that was to be expected. "Your body is trying to fight the infection and the disease is fighting for your body. Both battles need fuel, which explains your hunger. The craving for water is to combat the rise in temperature. You're not sweating excessively?" John shook his head. "Hmm... Probably a good thing as it's difficult enough to prevent dehydration. The IV is a broad spectrum antibiotic, essential salts and fluids."_

_"Say I believe you, and this isn't just some experiment..? You're saying I'm... __**we're**__ werewolves? I'm going to be a danger to people around the full moon? But the rest of the time I'm ok?"_

_"Ah, the mythology... Well, best get that out of the way first. We are not lunar-tied. We can, and do change at will, and in fact we need to change every few days or the wolf fights its way out. That's how accidents happen." He waved at John, as a case in point. "We are faster, stronger and heal quicker. Our senses are more highly developed. Ordinary bullets hurt just as much as silver, but silver injuries are more difficult to heal and tend to become more easily infected."_

_"Silver is used in medicine as an anti-microbial, with antibiotic applications. How is it possible it causes us harm?"_

_"Different biology I suppose. I'm not a medical man doctor. Perhaps you can investigate for yourself? Like wolves we form a Pack, although we don't tend to live in close proximity. There is a Pack-bond - a kind of mental connection - which we reinforce through physical contact when in wolf form. We are acutely aware of mood and can communicate and determine relative position within a few miles. The Pack has a hierarchy - a leader, or Alpha, a second, who will speak for the Alpha if required and often a third, who will act for them both. Everyone else jockeys for position below that, although we don't have much of that."_

_"Who is the Alpha? Will I meet him?"_

_"I am," he said simply and watched John absorb that information. When John's smirk split his face he simply rolled his eyes in a familiar manner._

_"No offence Mycroft, but you don't strike me as alpha-male material. You're altogether too... Um..." Realising what he'd been thinking questioned Mycroft's sexuality, he chose to fall silent. Mycroft twitched a smile at his discomfort._

_"Fortunately for me the role of Alpha in a were-Pack is about leadership rather than procreation. My sexual orientation has no influence on my ability to lead."_

_"Um... Fine... Good... We __**are**__ dangerous though? Are we... are we the __**only**__ dangerous thing out there? Are you going to tell me that vampires, zombies and ghouls also exist?"_

_Mycroft gave a wry grin. "In my experience humans are the most dangerous species on the planet. There aren't enough wolves or vampires in the world to compete with the fear and destruction humans can create. I have never met a zombie or a ghoul so I cannot confirm or deny their existence."_

_"So vampires...?"_

_"Exist. They don't bother us, we don't bother them."_

_John nodded. He felt he was absorbing the information rather well, although it was underpinned by the belief this was all some mad experiment and Mycroft was probably insane..._


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Another short chapter to move things on in the present**

Chapter 7

John had a headache that the walk from the surgery to Baker Street hadn't relieved like he hoped. Sherlock's dramatic reappearance in the restaurant – reappearance in his _life_ – had knocked him for six, and he couldn't make up his mind what to do about it. It seemed like Mary had taken to him, and was actively encouraging John to let the curly haired man back into his life, telling him it would be _beneficial_ to have a life outside the Pack. The Pack _was_ his life. It had saved him several times over, from his self-destructive grief that had set him on the path to that stupid party a year ago, to the attack that had changed his future so completely, and the appalling injury he had suffered four months ago. He owed the Pack everything; he owed Sherlock-bloody-Holmes nothing! Not his loyalty and certainly not his love. But there it was, at the back of his mind like a withered rose. If he gave it a little care and attention it would bloom again, but he wasn't sure he could handle it. Sherlock had broken him – shattered into a thousand pieces – and what was left was brittle and weak.

He had still shaved off the mustache, much to Mary's amusement. Sherlock clearly hated it, and Mary had finally admitted she wasn't keen, but his flatmate still moaned at him when he didn't rinse every single bristle down the plughole following his grooming. He'd only started growing it to annoy Mycroft, but the elegant man had been determined in his will to ignore it completely. Petty differences, petty arguments. Mycroft had so far been silent on the subject of his brother's return, and _that_ was what made John angriest.

He paused at the doorstep of 221b looking up at the familiar black door. A figure collided with his shoulder, walking on without so much as an apology. "'Scuse you." John muttered, just as fingers closed around his left wrist and a stabbing pain stung his neck. At first he thought he'd been stabbed, but almost instantly the world began to swim before his eyes and his legs grew too heavy to move. He tried to grab the man, but his arms wouldn't respond. Two pairs of hands carefully lowered him to the floor, and the world went black.

When John came round the first sense to return was smell. He was outside, the earthy scent of foliage mingled with damp wood, and the odd breath of frosty air tainted with a peculiar sweet burning smell that he recognized from his childhood. It took him a moment to place it – _sparklers_. Hand held fireworks for kids that they used to write their names in the darkness. He thought he could see the bright flicker a distance away, and the delighted laughter of small children, but that made no sense. He was on his way to Baker Street…

Wherever this was, it wasn't Baker Street. He couldn't move his arms, smoke was irritating his throat making him cough and he couldn't cry out. All his senses were dulled and his whole body felt like it was under a lead blanket. In desperation he reached out to his _other_, seeking the sandy wolf, but it too lay glassy-eyed on the ground, whimpering. Whatever they'd given him had paralyzed his one guaranteed way out, which meant they knew exactly what he was, and how to neutralize it. There was a man's voice close by. "No. It's not gonna work. Bit damp. I'll get something to help it along, yeah?" and suddenly John realized where he was. The stacked reclaimed wood towered over him, smoke seeping through the gaps where it started to smolder. He croaked, trying to get someone's attention – _anyone_ – and suddenly one blessed word burst from his lips and was heard "_Help!_"

There were children screaming and horrified adult voices, and John added his wails to the clamor desperate to be heard. The fire was spreading, heat building inside the huge pile. If it caught, the gap in which he was concealed would act like a natural chimney, drawing the flames and heat inward and upward. Panic was threatening to overwhelm him until he heard the voice of his fallen angel "Move! Move! Move! Move! Move! _John!_"

He was hauled bodily from the heat and smoke, strong hands yanking painfully on his arms and dragging him across the ground to safety. John lay there, dazed, gazing up into the most beautiful face in the world. "John? John!"

**A/N: Yes readers, it's around about here you will start noticing significant departures from the script in the 'present' part of the story, although the borrowed dialogue and basic plot remains the same. The keen eyed may have spotted that Mary was referred to as his flatmate...**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: first chapter that justifies the M rating. Story is progressing in a direction I hadn't anticipated so just going with it. Hope you're happy to follow!**

Chapter 8

The Pack needed a place to meet and recover from missions, and that place was a safe house in the Pimlico area of London on the aptly named Lupus Street. John was the last to arrive and could hear the others arguing as he descended the steps to the lower ground floor flat.

"It was supposed to be a straightforward collection," Lestrade growled around a mouthful of pizza. "It didn't feel right from the start. Some other wolf had been there, I'm telling you, I smelled him."

"There was no other wolf, other than Moran. I would have sensed him. The perimeter wasn't crossed – no scent trail." Mary stood with her hands on her hips glaring at the half-naked policeman where he leaned on the kitchen counter. "Unless you're saying I missed something?"

"Well he got in somehow, he was there! Maybe you were a little distracted? Or maybe you're distracting _us_?" He took a step towards her, dark brown eyes clouded with lust. "Maybe you should just open your legs right now for me. A five day fuck-fest sounds glorious." He adjusted his half-hard cock through the thin material of the joggers he'd pulled on, advancing on the petite naked woman, but she stood her ground. As he reached for her left arm, her right flew out and connected with his cheek delivering a slap that could be heard in the next room and rocked him back on his heels. John bared his teeth, growling deep in his throat.

"Leave her alone! She's mine!" Mary turned to glare at him instead.

"Don't make me hit you too!" She threatened, her fingers clenching into a fist and subtly changing her stance so she could throw her entire weight behind the punch if necessary.

John heard Mycroft chuckle behind him as Mary stormed out to find some clothing leaving the two men sizing each other up. "Thank goodness we only have this problem once a year. Lestrade, you know from experience your advances will be rebuffed - _painfully_ - so I suggest you stay away. John, you need to eat before all this gets too cold."

Half a dozen take-away boxes were spread out on the small dining table, their contents already half gone. Calories were necessary, and the cheese-and-meat laden beauties were a perfect mix of carbohydrates and protein. John snagged a piece in each hand and happily tucked in, the altercation quickly forgotten now Mary had left the room. Lestrade still stared at the door after her, an odd look on his face until Mycroft touched his shoulder and offered a pack of cigarettes. He took one with a rueful grin "why me? Every fucking _year_ Mycroft! Why _me_?"

Mycroft smiled, lighting their cigarettes and slipping the gold lighter back into his pocket. Unlike the others he was already fully dressed, not quite his usual dapper self, but smart in dark grey dress trousers and pale blue polo shirt. "It's not you remember, it's your wolves. They call to each other and unfortunately for you your bodies demand you answer. It's only a short while, and this year it looks like you might have competition." He nodded at John who simply looked confused, not following the conversation at all.

Lestrade looked at the puzzled doctor who was already munching on his fourth slice of pizza. Younger, fitter, army-trained... Yeah Lestrade could take him down in a fight - in his dreams! It was a while since the DI had needed to throw a punch, and it was decades since he'd fought over a woman. John was his mate, his drinking buddy! Normally they didn't even hunt in the same pool having opposing gender preferences in recent months, but apparently Mary's wolf had decided Lestrade's needed some younger competition. Christ, he was going to have to fight his best mate for sex with a woman neither of them even wanted, and Mary sure as hell didn't want _either_ of them! "Can't I just concede?" He asked hopefully.

Mycroft laughed and yawned simultaneously, patting his arm fondly. "I'll leave you to explain your joint predicament to the good doctor; I'm off to bed."

John dropped to the sofa beside Lestrade tucking his feet under him. The DI had found something to watch on TV - a repeat of a cooking show John had seen earlier in the week - and was gulping noisily from a large bottle of water while he criticised the chef's take on panhaggerty. "_No_, no carrots," he grumbled, "that's just plain _wrong_!"

"It's a regional variation; he explained it earlier in the show."

"It's an abomination, is what it is! You can't have carrots in it." John just shrugged, not giving a damn whether it came with or without. He had something more important on his mind.

"That was Lord Moran tonight, yes? The guy selling secrets or whatever to Mycroft?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, I've seen him on TV. I don't think too hard about Mycroft's business with him, safer not to I reckon. We're just muscle at these things."

"OK, it's just... Was Moran ever Pack?" Lestrade was startled at the question, looking unconsciously towards the door and lowering his voice.

"What makes you ask? Oh god, you recognised his signature? But _how_? He hasn't renewed the bond for more than twenty years so even _we_ find it difficult to detect. You should find it impossible not being full Pack."

"I think... Actually I'm pretty sure, that Moran was the one who bit me."

"Fuck! Mycroft needs to know about that but not tonight, he needs to rest. We'll talk about it tomorrow ok?"

"Talk about what tomorrow?" Mary said, flouncing into the room still barely dressed. She'd put on pants and one of John's old t-shirts, but it looked like that was as far as she'd bothered to go. Greg shifted uncomfortably when she wriggled her way between the two men on the sofa stretching her bare legs across his lap and leaning against John's shoulder. Her hair was still damp from the shower and she smelled good, like strawberry, vanilla and sex. Without thinking Greg ran his hand up her shin, coming to rest just above her knee, and began stroking his thumb over her kneecap in repeating circles making her sigh. His wolf stirred, looking up at him from where he lay in the shade of a tree, alert to the sudden smell of female close by. She stretched and slid further down John's shoulder, pushing her legs further over his and forcing his hand further up her thigh. He grinned down at her, eyes darkened with arousal, and stroked his hand all the way to the apex of her legs, sliding between the soft silky skin of her thighs to brush teasingly over the cotton of her pants.

"Um, _Christ_ Greg, what are you doing…?" John murmured, acutely embarrassed and more than a little turned on to watch his female flatmate sprawled against him while his supposedly 'I'm -100%-gay-never-looking-at-another-woman-again' bisexual best friend flicked his fingers between her legs. Mary smiled up at him and licked her lips, pouting suggestively and suddenly in his mind the silver wolf was brushing against his sandy flank. The she-wolf dipped her head submissively, licking at his mouth and he came back to the room with his mouth moving over Mary's and her tongue sliding against his in a hot, dirty kiss. He looked down her body to find her t-shirt had ridden up exposing her belly and Greg's fingers were slipping wetly inside her, his thumb caressing her clit. John couldn't tear his eyes from the vision of his friend's fingers dipping into that sweetness and he was instantly hard. He wanted all of that wet heat for himself, it was his by rights. Mary moaned when he pulled her into his lap away from Greg's dextrous hand, but she rapidly scrambled against him, straddling his lap and rubbing wantonly against his erection.

He had to break the kiss to fumble with the thin cotton pants he was wearing, silently thanking every god that he wasn't battling with jeans, and as soon as his cock sprang free Mary was guiding it into her tight heat. Greg growled and then he was behind her, kneeling between John's legs and pressing his naked cock along the cheeks of her arse, squeezing his rigid length along the dip between them. Mary rocked hard on John, clenching her inner muscles around him and rubbing her arse against Greg. The DI's expert fingers reached around her and dipped to her clit once more, while John delivered a bruising kiss, thrusting his tongue between her panting lips. Mary pulled away from John's lips, gasping over her shoulder to Greg "kiss him!" and Greg leaned forward, sandwiching the petite woman between their bodies while he curled his free hand around the back of John's head and pulled him in for a rough open-mouthed kiss. John tasted blood when he fiercely kissed the other man back, thrusting his hips upward as hard as he could and then he was coming in sharp bursts inside her, seeing stars from the male assault on his mouth and the female heat around his cock. Before he'd even finished Mary's hips were lifted from him and she was pushed roughly face first against his chest, Greg thrusting into her from behind, grunting at the tight slick grip of her that sent him spilling over the edge only seconds later. His fingers didn't falter however, teasing, pulling and rolling at her centre until she too reached orgasm with a wordless yell of pleasure.

All three were breathing heavily by the time they collapsed back onto the sofa, sex-mussed clothing hurriedly dragged back into place. Mary curled up across Greg's lap, her feet resting on John's thigh. "I don't know if that was a good thing or not," chuckled Greg.

"Felt good, though I'm not sure what the hell happened… Now it just feels a bit weird. Me, and you two… well, not something I ever pictured!"

"Um, yeah… I think I was supposed to explain _before_ it happened, but I was sort of expecting a fight first. That's generally how it goes."

"Explain?"

"My wolf is in oestrus," Mary said sleepily. "She decided she liked the look of you two as potential mates. She's been keen on Greg's wolf for a number of years, but you're something new. Normally she would flirt to get you both interested and then let you fight it out to decide who gets the pleasure, but for some reason she's decided to share. Not that I'm complaining… that was bloody good for me boys."

"Yes, no complaints here, though still frankly a little shocked. Does this happen often?"

Greg laughed out loud. "Once a year for about a week, she turns into a bit of a nympho. I wasn't joking about it becoming a fuck-fest earlier. Alpha-female privilege. Unfortunately the wolves don't really respect the human rules for relationships, sexuality, or common decency, so things can get a bit… interesting."

"And by 'interesting' you mean weird…?"

"You got it!"


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: A longer chapter than usual because there is no way to split it without losing the suspense. Back in the past for John's first change and something more developing. I've watched a lot of wolves fighting today to try and get this right so hopefully it's good!**

_Chapter 9_

_John was sprawled on the hard floor of the hospital room completely naked. He tried to press as much of his burning skin against the cold vinyl, moving his limbs slightly to roll as much of his body against the blessed chill, but it still felt like a million electric ants crawled beneath his surface and he could get no relief. The door opened, closed, and he whimpered, a pathetic desperate sound. Shiny dress shoes stopped close to his head and navy fine wool clad legs hunkered down beside him, one cool hand resting briefly against his perspiration drenched forehead and then stroking over his hair. "John?" he said softly._

"_Myc…" John's voice was a rough croak, lower than normal with the edge of a growl. He coughed, trying to clear the coarse edge from his speech, pressing his cheek to the floor and casting dazed eyes as far up the other man's body as he could without raising his head. They settled around the third button of his navy waistcoat, same navy wool as the trousers. The jacket would match too._

"_Sh, don't try to speak. I'm here, and I'm staying. I just need to make some preparations ok? I'm not leaving the room." John nodded, closing his eyes and moving his arms above his head so a different few square inches of skin pressed against the floor. Mycroft removed his shoes and socks and placed them neatly by the door, then took off his jacket, waistcoat and trousers, hanging them all carefully in the tiny wardrobe locker in the corner of the room. His tie was rolled and tucked into one of his shoes, and then he unbuttoned his shirt and allowed it to hang loose. Dressed only in his shirt and underwear he moved back into John's eye line and crouched beside him. "How are you doing? You're sweating a lot, which isn't good. How long have you been like this?"_

_John whimpered again and shook his head, unable to process the questions all at once. "It hurts. Should it?"_

"_Yes. I'm sorry. Your whole body is trying to reconfigure itself into something completely new. It won't be pain free. I can't give you drugs to help but I can try to help in other ways if you'll let me?" John looked at him, eyes widening slightly as he realised Mycroft had undressed. It was somehow more shocking than being naked himself. Mycroft looked down at his bare chest framed by the open edges of the shirt and tried to see himself as someone else might – as __**John**__ might. He detested his pale pink skin with its liberal dusting of freckles and smattering of golden-red hair, but his appearance hardly mattered right at this moment with John in such distress. "You sent the nurse away. Can you tell me why?"_

"_She smelled like… food…" John ground out, swallowing against the burn in his throat. "Was afraid… I'd hurt her..." Mycroft nodded and stroked his hand across John's hair again, watching for a lessening in the tension of the muscles of his back. "What are you doing?" It was a genuine query out of curiosity, nothing to indicate John felt uncomfortable with his actions._

"_Touch can help, but I can stop?" John twitched his head to indicate 'no', so Mycroft continued, first smoothing his hand over the surface of his damp hair, then sinking his fingers into the dark blond strands and rubbing the pads of his fingers across John's scalp. John moaned under his breath, and it wasn't a sound of pain, but equally it wasn't a good noise for John to be making under these circumstances. Arousal could speed the change, and Mycroft wanted this one, John's first, to be as controlled as possible. Reluctantly he withdrew his touch and collected a bottle of water from the stand by the bed._

"_Can you drink? If I sit you up can you take some water?" John pushed himself onto his side and propped onto one elbow, but that was as far as he could move before the pain in his limbs turned him to a statue. "Come on, grit your teeth." Mycroft settled behind him and looped his hands beneath the smaller man's arms, then with one heave he pulled John back and up until he lay between his legs, propped against his chest. John's agonized scream echoed around the small room and made the elder Holmes ears ring. The water was heavenly though, ice cold and fresh. John gulped at it too quickly making himself choke and spit mouthfuls down his chest. "Easy," soothed Mycroft, one hand helping to hold the bottle, the other stroking his hair once more. He couldn't help touching him, it was a need to give and receive comfort during stressful times that came from his wolf. "That's enough for now."_

_John's back burned against his chest causing a sheen of sweat to spring up all over the tall man's body. He manoeuvred the doctor's head so it rested against his shoulder, his own collar bone fitting perfectly into the curve of John's neck and supporting his head. Mycroft knew he shouldn't be thinking about how perfect they fit. He shouldn't even be in this room. There were Pack members who had experience of seeing a new wolf through his first change and who would be better equipped to help John but he had sent them away because he couldn't bear to think of anyone but himself touching this man. _

_Mycroft closed his eyes and for the hundredth time tried to make sense of his feelings. The attraction was unmistakably the Alpha wolf. The huge body of his __**other**__ vibrated with possessive need for the promise of the wolf he could sense approaching, but wolves were not homosexual. That desire could only come from him alone and it had never been known for human preferences to overrule the sexual behaviour of their wolves. The animal instinct was for reproduction not pleasure so they __**always**__ sought the opposite sex._

_John groaned. "Myc... You're squeezing me..."_

_"Oh, sorry." He released him slightly but didn't unwind his arms from John's waist. If things went wrong this may be his only opportunity to hold the small man close. He'd undressed for practical reasons - if John's change triggered his own there was no sense in ruining a perfectly good suit - but selfishly he had wanted to feel the touch of John's body against his naked skin. He clearly hadn't taken the time to consider the consequences however. His growing arousal pressed against the small of John's back and the younger man couldn't fail to notice, particularly when he painfully drew his knees up, using the leverage to push his upper body into a more upright position against Mycroft, aligning his tailbone with the bulge in the politician's pants. "Sorry," he apologised again, flushing crimson._

_"Don't be, but your timing sucks," John said roughly, grimacing against another wave of agony. "If you're going to distract me... Ungh! Words... Describe change... Argh!" He threw himself forward, bent almost double and rolled over Mycroft's leg onto his hands and knees, panting like he'd sprinted a mile. When he raised his head enough to meet Mycroft's eyes the other man could see his wolf staring back. His own wolf rose and began trotting towards them. _

_"He's close to the surface John. Can you feel him? Tell me how it feels."_

_"My legs... Urgh... __**Fuck**__... My legs and arms... I can feel bone grinding and twisting..." He looked down at his arms braced on the floor but on the surface they were unchanged. "My face... __**Fuck**__ Myc it __**hurts**__..." He was openly sobbing now, with no care for what the other man thought of him. He had only once experienced this level of agony when he was shot in the shoulder and that had been localised pain - bad enough, the worse feeling he had ever dealt with, but deal with it he had, puffing breaths like steam train until the medic's analgesia had taken away the worst of it. This was a thousand times magnified, wracking every part of his body with a burn that originated deep within and was trying to fight its way out._

_Mycroft was on his knees in front of him encouraging him to embrace it. The other man cradled his face in his hands and held him steady, his blue eyes somehow no longer human in his beautiful face. There was dominance there but also care and concern. "Free it John, I'm with you. I won't let it harm you." He dropped his face to John's pressing their mouths together in a touch was both human kiss and wolf nuzzle._

_The sandy wolf sprang from the darkness of John's mind, surging up to the surface and launched itself at the huge red-coated beast that dared to declare its dominance over him. The two men fell to the floor, John on top of the taller man taking him by surprise with his strength and agility, but Mycroft had earned his place as Alpha and was a skilled fighter. Even as John's strong human hands closed around his throat Mycroft was turning beneath him, presenting his back and protecting his vulnerable underside. His neck broadened and thick fur burst from his skin in a wash of searing heat that forced the smaller man to leap backwards with an inhuman yelp. The red wolf bounded into him shouldering him to the floor and snapping at the weak human throat beneath him, but John thrust a knee upward upsetting his balance and his teeth closed short. __**Let it go or I will kill you!**__ The command screamed through his mind tainted with Mycroft's panic that he could easily hurt the doctor. John's human mouth lunged for the forepaw closest to his head and his body burst apart, fur and fluids spilling from him as the wolf finally gained its freedom._

_He was a wild angry force of muscle, teeth and claws fighting for his life against a bigger, more experienced opponent. Mycroft relinquished his hold on his human mind and became the true Alpha disciplining a newcomer to the Pack. The wolves clashed in mid-air, snarling and slashing with their forepaws at their softer bellies, crashing into the metal side of the hospital bed hard enough to send it skidding across the floor a few feet. Mycroft went down, John on top of him, his jaws biting down on the red wolf's shoulder, but his claws could find no purchase on the smooth vinyl floor, so he lost his footing when Mycroft twisted into him. _

_The bigger wolf cuffed him hard sending him sprawling into the corner and pouncing on his back, pinning him with his full weight, but the walls either side left them awkwardly penned. The sandy wolf bucked underneath him, growling deep in his throat, but Mycroft had no intention of releasing him until he accepted his dominance. He risked shifting his weight, hunkering down so his hind legs and lower body pressed the other wolf to the floor, but his head and chest rose above him. The other wolf didn't move, maintaining his low position and growling softly. __**Submit**__, he commanded. _

_He waited, panting hard above his smaller challenger. Cautiously Mycroft wriggled backwards away from the confining walls, easing his body away from John who lay tensely, facing the wall. His tail swished angrily between Mycroft's forepaws but otherwise he was still. He stood and backed away slowly, waiting for the other wolf to act. Years of experience told him it wasn't this easy to put a new wolf in his place but John let him get six feet clear before he jumped at the wall using the vertical surface, thrusting his strong legs against it and propelling himself from the corner to crash into the other once more. His teeth caught Mycroft's muzzle making him yelp, and drawing blood, but his hold wasn't secure enough and they broke apart snarling. _

_Mycroft had had enough of the little upstart who clearly thought his challenge was worthy of the Alpha. He launched himself at John, flipping him onto his back and closing hard on his throat, letting him feel the sharp points of his canines bite. His forelegs lay over the pale-yellow of his belly, his hindquarters tense and tail stiff. __**Submit**__, he ordered again, allowing one tooth to graze his skin. John whined, and stopped struggling, tail tucking between his legs. He lifted his head presenting more of his throat to the Alpha, in a final abrupt act of submission. _

_Mycroft smelled __**satisfied**__ as he rose, allowing John to roll onto his belly. The sandy wolf licked at Mycroft's muzzle, cleaning away the blood that stained his reddish fur a brighter shade of red while Mycroft stood over him, his belly brushing lightly against John's broad back, their tails wagging gently. When John had finished cleaning him Mycroft pushed his head under John's seeking the spot his tooth had pierced and licking over it. John fell onto his side, sprawling on the floor looking content to have the bigger wolf licking at his vulnerable throat. __**Mine**__, he sent possessively._

_**Yours**__, John agreed._


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Still in the past for a little while**

_Chapter 10_

_When John woke he found himself tucked tightly back in the hateful hospital bed, sheets so smooth he thought they'd probably been ironed around him while he slept. The IV was back, though the cannula was now in his right arm instead of his left, and there was a dull ache in every muscle of his body. He was also ravenous. He turned his head to see Mycroft exactly where he expected him to be, in the chair beside his bed. He was not dressed however, having simply wrapped himself in a spare rumpled bed sheet._

_"Sherlock used to do that; you hated it," observed John mildly._

_"He isn't me. When I do it, it's casually elegant. He only does it out of sloth."_

_"Did. Past tense."_

_"Yes. Sorry." Mycroft looked at something invisible on the floor, a faraway expression on his face. John supposed he must miss Sherlock almost as much as he did; that he had gone through the same hell he had when Sherlock... "I'm sorry he died. I don't think he really wanted to leave you, he just felt he had no other option."_

_"Suicide isn't an 'option' Mycroft it's a punishment for everyone else that's left behind. It's a fucking coward's way out."_

_"Quite. You're clearly still annoyed with him?" John pulled a face and shrugged. Annoyed was probably still too mild, even after a year. He'd spent most of the last twelve months sliding down the grief curve but had got stuck at 'pissed off' and couldn't seem to get past it._

_"Talk about something else," he said shortly, a sharp edge of anger bleeding through._

_"How about how I kicked your ass last night?" It was such an un-Mycroft line delivered with such deadpan seriousness John cracked up, letting out a bark of laughter that soon infected Mycroft and set them both to giggling like schoolboys. John reached for Mycroft's hand that was resting on the bed covering it with his own and curling his short fingers around Mycroft's long narrow ones._

_"You have quite a witty sense of humour at times Myc... Um, Mycroft." He blushed, caught out in the unintended familiar nickname._

_"It's fine. I quite like it from you." Mycroft's cheeks also looked a little pink as he stared at their joined hands on the pristine white bed linen. He didn't draw his hand away but turned it palm up so they were holding hands properly, his thumb stroking lightly over the doctor's darker skin. "This is a little odd, but pleasant." He smiled down at John but there was uncertainty behind the normally confident pale blue eyes._

_"It is. Much better timing." John winked at him and Mycroft turned crimson, glancing away to hide his embarrassment. John chuckled. "I'm guessing people don't generally flirt with the great Mycroft Holmes if a little teasing can make you turn beetroot."_

_"Um, no, not often. Sherlock is, __**was**__, the attractive one. I was the smart one. He was far better suited to amorous advances than I. Far better at rebuffing them too."_

_"And would you rebuff my amorous advances?" John teased._

_"Oh I, um... I don't know..."_

_"Relax Myc, I'm in no condition to be amorous with anyone right now," John grinned, "but I'm warning you, as soon as I'm fit enough I'll be advancing my ass off, so you better be ready for all this badass motherfucking wolf."_

_Mycroft burst out laughing and it was wonderful. He was actually quite gorgeous when he dropped the stuffy posh exterior and let the superior mask slide from his face. His normally chilly ice-blue eyes darkened to the warmth of a summer sky and they crinkled at the corners. "I think I proved I can handle your little badass motherfucker last night."_

_"Christ Myc, I think that's the sexiest phrase I have ever heard you utter. Say it again!"_

_"What? That you're a little badass motherfucker?" Mycroft's cultured tones caressed the words and frankly made them sound pornographic to John's ears. He stored the memory away in his brain to replay later when he was alone and could imagine all the different ways he could persuade Mycroft to repeat that phrase in his authoritative voice. He wasn't really sure what this attraction to Mycroft was all about but like everything in his life he'd go with it and see where it led him. It passed the time while he was stuck in this damn room anyway and stopped him dwelling on less pleasant things like the upsetting physical changes he was going through, or the car crash of his life before the party that had caused him to be here._

_He studied the other man quite openly taking in the high brow, neatly cut dark auburn hair, reddish shadow of stubble and faint flush of freckles across his pale skin. He didn't share his brother's high cheek bones or the full plush lips, but he was undeniably beautiful in a different way. Mycroft smiled uncertainly under the scrutiny, a slight upturn of his mouth at the corners, lips pressed together. He always looked self-conscious when he smiled, almost as if it was a guilty pleasure to do so, which was a shame because the rare moments of laughter turned him from striking to stunning. John found himself wanting to make the other laugh very much. He lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed his dry lips to Mycroft's wrist where his radial pulse fluttered beneath his skin, seeking that tiny heartbeat with the tip of his tongue. Mycroft uttered a soft "oh!" exhaling a shaky huff of breath and blushing even harder than before if that was possible. If he could bring such a dazed look to Mycroft's face with such a simple action, what could he do to him in bed? Unfortunately at that moment John's stomach decided to remind them that he was starving with a rumble so loud he got his wish to see Mycroft laugh._

_Mycroft stood, wrapping the sheet tightly around himself - no chance __**he'd**__ let it slip, more's the pity - and retrieved his suit from the locker. He paused at the door. "Would you have dinner with me tonight? I can't offer a fancy location, but the room down the hall is more pleasantly furnished. More conducive to an enjoyable evening of company."_

_"Are you asking me on a date Mr Holmes? Don't you have to hurry off and organise a war or something?"_

_"If you've nothing better to do? And I prefer to stop wars if at all possible Doctor Watson."_

_"Then I'd be delighted," he said in mock posh tones, "however, if you expect me to dress for dinner you may need to organise some clothing for me."_

_"There are some things in the locker. Dinner in half an hour?"_

_"Perfect."_

_John showered quickly, towelling off his hair and dropping the damp towel on the bathroom floor in his haste to be ready. All the clothes in the locker were brand new, still with their tags on, and John winced at the prices. If he decided to pursue something with Mycroft beyond this enforced stay he would ensure the other man was not allowed to spend ridiculous amounts of money on him. John Watson's affections could not be bought, they were given freely or not at all, and lavish gifts made him uncomfortable. He would get over his pride just this once however, because he wanted food almost as much as he wanted... Nope, far too soon to be thinking like that._

_Everything was discreetly designer label, including the pants, but it all fit like it was made to measure. John wouldn't have put it past Mycroft to have his measurements taken whilst he was out cold, but he wasn't complaining. Being on the short side for a man, high street jeans tended to bunch around his ankles so it was satisfying to wear something that was perfectly sized. The jumper was a soft fine knit that felt far too luxurious to be anywhere near his skin but he shrugged and pulled it on anyway, feeling slightly self-conscious at the way it clung to his muscles. He kept himself fit, but he was no body builder, and it showed far more of his physique than his usual shirts and chunky jumpers._

_There was a knock on the door just as he stuffed his feet into a pair of black loafers and the latch clicked to admit Anthea, ever-present Blackberry clutched in her hand. "Mr Holmes is ready for you, if you'd care to follow me?" He smiled at her nervously suddenly afraid to leave the sanctity of the locked room. "It's perfectly fine. You're in no danger at the moment, nor do you pose a danger to anyone else. We would not permit you to leave the room if you were."_

_"Oh. Ok. You can tell?"_

_"I have the ability to sense when you're close to a change, yes."_

_"So you're... One too?"_

_"Of course." She stopped by a door that looked identical to the one they'd just left and rapped briskly, pushing it open without waiting for a response from within. "Doctor Watson," she announced, pushing him encouragingly in the small of his back through the door and closing it behind her._

_The doors were the only similarity between the two rooms. When Mycroft said this room was more comfortable he wasn't kidding. His shoes sank into plush carpet as he crossed the room to where Mycroft waited looking out into the night. "So who do I have to sleep with to get a window around here?" He joked softly. London at night had never looked so beautiful and he commented on it to the other man. _

_"You seem surprised that you're still in London."_

_"I am. I thought you'd spirited me away to some remote facility to perform your evil experiments in secret." Mycroft arched an eyebrow and grinned down at the shorter man._

_"Evil? Hardly. Shall we eat?" He led John to a small mahogany dining table intimately set for two complete with candlelight and a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. "To celebrate your first change," he explained, lifting it and pouring two glasses._

_"It's a cause for celebration?" John asked doubtfully._

_"It's an excuse for me to get to know you better, so I think so. This life isn't something I'd wish on you, but now it's happened I want to make sure you're ok. Take care of you. Sherlock would want that if he knew what had happened to you. What I __allowed__ to happen." His voice had grown quieter as he spoke and he was avoiding John's eyes. The doctor took a step towards him and placed the tips of his fingers against the taller man's jaw gently moving his head until Mycroft had to look at him._

_"This is __not__ your fault. You weren't the man who attacked me, and I doubt you sent him to do it. And by the way, __sod__ Sherlock, I don't much care what he would or would not want anymore. I didn't want him to jump off a fucking building but he went ahead and did it anyway. __**He**__**left me!**__" Mycroft swallowed hard at the intensity of John's angry dark blue eyes. There were things he should know that Mycroft wasn't able to tell him and selfishly he was glad he was bound by the secret. John's thumb caressed his chin feeling the light stubble he hadn't taken time to shave. "I'm more interested in what __**you**__ want Myc, and maybe I'm hoping that it mirrors my own feelings."_

_Mycroft captured his hand and held it loosely. "I want to enjoy dinner and conversation with a fascinating and um... attractive man and get to know him without rushing things. If that's ok with you?" He looked at John shyly and the blond man was struck by the vulnerability that peeked from beneath the normally cool exterior. He grinned up at him, squeezing his fingers._

_"It's perfectly ok. Now let's eat."_


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: bulletproofsince1999, thanks for your continuing encouraging reviews - guest reviewer, thank you also, John and Mycroft together is challenging but interesting to write but there are difficulties to be overcome, not least a not-so-dead-Sherlock ;-) Thanks to everyone else who has stuck with it this far too. This is turning into a far longer fic than I expected, and there is actually a plot(!), so hopefully you don't get bored before the end!**

**A/N: I had to go back and examine timelines because I was getting lost - one of the downfalls of 'writing as I go' for me. There are three distinct timelines in this fic which will all eventually converge, so sorry if it gets confusing. Basically, anything in italics is 'past' documenting the start of JW/MH relationship, anything in normal type featuring the Pack is 'recent past', anything in normal type featuring Sherlock is 'present'. I may write more in a particular timeframe to get the stories to meet more quickly but I'll try to make it clear where we are in time! If it's still confusing just yell at me via PM or review and I'll try to sort it out - ta, nat x**

Chapter 11 (scene not in TEH)

Mycroft sat in his office - the official one, not one of the several he kept for questionable purposes or Pack business - and sank his head into his hands. Anthea had just buzzed him to say Sherlock was outside and he was livid that John Watson had almost been burned to a crisp and appeared to be holding Mycroft personally responsible. He had also just finished a call from their Mother having spent - he checked his watch - _twenty-three minutes_ unsuccessfully avoiding any sort of commitment to spend time with his parents on their upcoming visit. Somehow Mummy had talked him into a matinee of 'Les Miserables' which would of course entail post-show dinner and drinks. He considered it a fate only marginally better than the trip to see a rock band at the O2 that John and Lestrade had forced on him last month. The memory made him shudder and he was sure his ears were still ringing! Perhaps he could plead hearing loss as a reason not to attend the theatre and persuade Sherlock to take them instead. After all, he had two years' worth of dreary family commitments to catch up on.

The door burst open and the whirlwind that was his brother swept in, calmly followed by Anthea who said "the Prime Minister is expecting you at two. The car will be here at one-thirty precisely." He smiled his thanks understanding her code perfectly and checking his watch again to see how long he had to appease his brother before 'two', Mary, expected him at the safe house, number 130. Half an hour should do it. He would be amazed if Sherlock could bear to be in his company that long.

Mycroft had his own reasons to be concerned about the attack on John, not least that whatever they had used to subdue him had worked successfully on their unique metabolism meaning someone dangerous knew how to hurt them. Ever since he had learned that Moran had been responsible for turning John, Mycroft had been more cautious in his dealings with his contact. Sebastian Moran had been Pack when it was first established in London. There were only a few wolves back then, and they all knew one another well, but the idea of banding together to form a Pack was alien to them, and petty squabbles quickly drove them apart. Sebastian Moran had not renewed his Pack bond for over twenty years.

When Mycroft was first told of the wolf attack on John Watson he suspected a lone wolf from outside the UK, or perhaps someone who had been run out of one of the northern UK packs looking to be noticed. When the injured man was brought to the facility the Alpha was shocked to detect the faintest trace of the Pack bond on him. If one of his own was responsible the disease in his blood would have marked him as full Pack immediately but it was no more than a vaguely familiar call to Mycroft. It gave John a link to the Pack but meant he would always be an outsider, weaker than the rest and destined to be on the fringe without rank. Mycroft had assiduously researched wolves that had distanced themselves from the Pack over the last twenty years, most of whom had been killed in disputes with other packs they had run in to, but there were three men still living that Mycroft thought could possibly have been responsible - one was in prison serving a life term, one was in South America and the third was Lord Sebastian Moran, peer of the realm and already in Mycroft's pocket.

"I want to know who was responsible for hurting John," Sherlock demanded without preamble, looming over his brother in his ridiculous coat.

"Why would I know? John Watson's well-being is no longer anything to do with me now the hero is returned," he lied smoothly unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "_Was_ he hurt?" The scratches and scrapes and smoke inhalation would heal within hours which could be problematic around a man as observant as Sherlock but the Pack was used to explaining away injuries as 'not as bad as they first appeared'.

"Not badly, but he could have been _killed_? Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Well it's hardly a matter of National Security, brother. Take it to the police. Your pet detective loves this kind of thing." Lestrade would curse him for that no doubt but Mycroft was already doing everything he could think of to identify John's abductor; he just couldn't make Sherlock aware of it.

"I asked you to take care of him, yet he looks dreadful. He's gained weight and he's living with a _woman_!" The last word was said with such distaste Mycroft chuckled. Apparently John hadn't seen fit to inform Sherlock of his relationship status with Mary so the detective had jumped to the logical conclusion. Clearly not yet up to his full deductive powers then. One thing Mycroft was certain of, thanks to the Pack bond, was that there was no romantic attachment to Mary at all in spite of John's surprising participation in Mary's annual love-in a few weeks earlier. He and Lestrade seemed to have enjoyed a good time, although they both protested strongly to the contrary. Mary had tolerated it with good humour, even if her enthusiasm was lacking at times. It was difficult to enjoy a week long bout of straight passion when she had a loving, caring girlfriend who had no idea of her double life. The three had been glad when Mary's time had passed.

"Don't _you_ have any idea who attacked John?" Mycroft asked hopefully. "You are the detective after all."

"No, but I suspect someone is trying to get at me by hurting him."

That was an angle Mycroft hadn't thought to explore but Sherlock had only been home five minutes; he hadn't had time to piss anyone off that badly yet. But what if Sherlock had the reason correct but the _target_ wrong? Moran had hurt John before and he had every reason to dislike and distrust Mycroft. He knew that John was under Mycroft's protection as Alpha, and that he was likely the easiest target in the Pack. If he also knew of their former relationship then that would make it even more likely he would use John against him… Things had been better between John and him since Marcus' death and after spending the weekend together Mycroft had begun to hope... But no. Any chance of reconciliation was destroyed by his own hand the moment he decided it was time for Sherlock to return from the dead. He only had himself to blame for the resultant heartache. Caring truly was not an advantage.

He had avoided speaking to John since Sherlock's return, ignoring the barrage of furious text messages and voicemails that accused him of being a lying, deceitful twat. Mycroft couldn't blame him when they'd been so close. He _had_ lied to him about Sherlock's death, had deliberately deceived him into believing he grieved for his dead brother and had built their relationship on the hope Sherlock would never again be a part of John's life. He didn't consider himself a coward in any area of his life except John Watson, specifically his feelings for the small man. He loved him, plain and simple, but his not-so-dead brother had a prior claim.

"I'll look into it," he promised his brother. "Give John my kind regards."


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: short chapter, recent past**

Chapter 12

It was a relief to be out of the stinking city at last even if he was still within London. Richmond Park stretched out on all sides, a huge patch of green space that gave ample room to roam and run. At least there were some decent patches of woodland here, and the air seemed fresher to his sensitive nose because of it. He was sick of scavenging bins on streets suffocating with exhaust fumes, and it was hard to escape detection in a city that never seemed to sleep. Once or twice he had been spotted by the night workers – skinny pasty faced girls in barely there clothing, or haggard young men pushing drugs on street corners. It was fun to see them rubbing their eyes, not quite sure that they'd actually seen a large black wolf stalking the streets. He'd bared his teeth in a snarl at one staggering youth and the stupid fuck had pissed his pants. Petty behaviour and beneath him, but it was so _boring_ waiting for the players in his game to do something interesting.

One of his key players was in the park somewhere unaware that he wasn't alone. He had tracked the man from the shiny black car parked at the southern edge of the park up towards the Isabella Plantation. He walked briskly with his mobile pressed to his ear, the other hand gripping the handle of a heavy looking briefcase. A security detail, two burly body-builder types with muscles too big for their suits followed at a discreet distance, but they couldn't be anything other than they appeared to be. Subtle as a house brick to the face, and twice as dumb. If Lord Sebastian Moran actually had to rely on these two to protect his life, he was in serious trouble.

He had scouted around the park after that for a while, searching for anyone with more talent at being inconspicuous. Moran was fond of snipers and relied on shadowy figures with long sights to keep him secure, rather than the public facing bodyguards, but he hoped he hadn't given the peer time to organise any such defence. Finding no one he decided to leave the Lord to sweat and headed deeper into the park for some fun.

He smelled the deer long before he could see them. He was downwind of the sizeable herd of fallow deer that grazed and wandered in the night. They were less bad tempered than the red deer, more likely to run than stand their ground, and it was a chase he was after to work off some of his energy before his meeting. He dropped low to the ground and kept to the shadows, creeping closer to the edge of the herd until he could see them in the low light. He singled one out and studied it noting its approximate age, build and weaponry – a young buck probably entering its first rut, with an impressive set of antlers for a youngster. It was an audacious choice but he was nothing if not daring.

He was within thirty feet of the animal when something alerted the deer and their heads lifted as one to sniff the air nervously. Suddenly a streak of grey burst into the herd from the opposite side of the park scattering the animals like debris from an explosion, white tails fleeing in all directions as long as it was away from the snarling madness that had erupted into the centre of their group. He would sigh with exasperation if he could, but instead he sat and watched as the bumbling idiot of a blue-grey wolf ruined his workout. The young buck fled in his direction, and he had a moment to decide whether or not to bring him down, but he let the animal pass unharmed annoyed that he didn't get to chase him down like he'd planned. Moran's wolf could do with learning some manners.

He loped towards the blue-grey wolf that now lay in the centre of the meadowland, tongue lolling as the cervine chaos continued around him. When he reached the large shaggy wolf he sat and regarded him with disgust. _Are you a wolf or a fucking dumb dog? _Moran looked up at him uncomprehendingly, apparently baffled by the question. _Change!_

It took Moran a good five minutes to complete his change back to his human self, by which time the dark haired man had wandered over to the shadow of the trees and was lounging on the cool damp grass. The park was officially closed, but the peer's goons were around somewhere and he wouldn't put it past them to try selling a story to the gutter press along the lines of 'Lord in Naked Park Romp with Mystery Man'. He wondered if Moran would be up for a romp. It had been simply _ages! _ Probably not, though.

The stupid wavy haired man dashed for the trees, glancing around nervously, but the only spectators were the deer that had begun to gather once more at the centre of the clearing now the danger had mysteriously disappeared. Moran dropped to the grass beside him, trying to arrange his body to hide the fact he was naked. Dull, man. As if he actually cared!

"So? You wanted to see me?"

"Um, yes… I thought it would be more discreet if we met here." He rolled his eyes willing the pathetic man to get _on_ with it! "I have an update on Mycroft Holmes." Ah, this was more like it.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"He took the bait. The documents are in his possession. We can make our move."


	14. Chapter 13

**_A/N: back to the past..._**

_Chapter 13_

_John opened his eyes to see a sorry looking balloon bobbing in front of his face. Half the helium had already escaped so it wavered pathetically at half-mast, its puckered foil sadly wishing him to 'Get Well Soon!' Mycroft prodded it, making it dance listlessly in the slight breeze of the air con._

_"From your work colleagues," Mycroft explained helpfully. "Mrs Hudson found it on the steps of 221b. Apparently they aren't aware you've moved out."_

_John hissed an irritated sigh through his teeth. "Good of them considering they were on the verge of firing me."_

_"Yes, I heard. Something about missing or false prescriptions wasn't it?"_

_"Irregularities in the stock control." John closed his eyes again ignoring the man staring at him from the bedside chair. It was only a few pills... Something to help him sleep and escape the nightmares... Then a little something else to get him through the day... It wasn't as if it was a __**regular**__ occurrence. Somebody was bound to notice eventually so he shouldn't really have been surprised when his review came up and the words 'disciplinary procedure' were mentioned. He was lucky they only suspected him of carelessness. If they uncovered anything that proved the missing prescriptions had found their way back to him... Well that was the end of his career, and possibly prosecution._

_"That particular problem has been resolved," Mycroft said quietly as if he'd read John's mind. Sherlock used to do that; it was no less uncomfortable to have his brother do the same. "They think you've been admitted to hospital suffering from depression and exhaustion." John hadn't given a thought to his work in the five weeks he'd been in the facility. It hadn't occurred to him that people out in the real world would wonder why he'd disappeared and would possibly be looking for him. Perhaps he was now classed as a Missing Person? Surely Greg would have noticed his absence? They drank together most weeks. But then it __**had**__ been a while..._

_"Exhaustion and depression huh? So essentially shorthand for 'he's been sectioned because he's finally flipped'?" _

_Mycroft gave a wry grin and poked the balloon again. "Not at all. I told them I was paying for private medical care for my brother's good friend to help him over his death. The stout receptionist - __**severe**__ looking woman - demanded to know why it had taken me so long. I was reprimanded most viciously!"_

_John finally chuckled, his sour mood disappearing in the face of Mycroft's indignant tone. He would probably still need to find a new job eventually but at least the shadow that had been hanging over him - __**one of them**__ - had been lifted. "Do you make the bad things go away for everyone?"_

_"Only the special people."_

_Mycroft was smiling down at him. "Come here," John whispered and the red haired man blushed. The doctor wriggled over making space for him to lie down next to him. There had been a lot of kissing over the last couple of days and it seemed to John that Mycroft was making flimsy excuses to 'just pop in to check on him'. "Shouldn't you be doing something important?" He asked softly, his lips only a fraction away from Mycroft's. _

_"I consider this the most important thing on my list today," Mycroft replied, closing the distance and moving his lips against John's willing mouth. The doctor slipped his hand underneath Mycroft's jacket trying to tug his shirt free so he could touch bare skin._

_"You have too many clothes on," he complained between kisses._

_"You don't have enough on," chuckled Mycroft, pushing the sheet a little lower and kissing John's chest. "Unfortunately you have a visitor and he's getting impatient."_

_"__**I'm**__ getting impatient," groaned John, "you're killing me Myc."_

_"Later," he laughed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Get dressed and come down the hall. Lestrade is keen to see I'm treating you well."_

_"What? Greg's here?"_

_"Been here over an hour and getting stroppy because Anthea wouldn't let him see you without my say so. I didn't think a few more minutes delay would matter." He smiled shyly, looking away when John slipped naked from the bed. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with nudity - post change they tended to wander around happily naked - it was just he found his eyes wanting to linger on John's body. Every inch of it. "Um, I think I'll wait with him or he'll come and find us and I don't think we want that."_

_Ten minutes later John tried the door of his room to find it unlocked for the first time, although Anthea waited outside looking distractedly at her Blackberry as usual. He had studied her over the last week and had come to recognise that she was incredibly alert to all that went on around her. Deliberately he turned the wrong way but didn't manage two steps before she was in front of him, unruffled as ever and smiling sweetly. "Mr Holmes and Mr Lestrade are in the second room on the left."_

_"Can you read minds?"_

_"Of course. That way. Second room on the left."_

_"A woman of few words," he muttered under his breath, obediently turning in the direction she indicated._

_"And you obey every one John Watson." She gave a brief smile and stalked away in the opposite direction, heels clicking as she went. He watched her over his shoulder and was sure she put some extra sway in her hips just for him. "Eyes front, Captain." She called back and he turned away shaking his head. She might be a good looking woman of few words but he would bet she could cut him down like corn if he even tried to flirt. Not worth the humiliation._

_Mycroft and Greg were waiting in a small meeting room furnished with bland regular office furniture of the type seen in offices the world over. Greg stood as he entered, crossing the room in two strides to envelop him in a tight hug. "Hey, steady on mate," John complained good-naturedly. Now that the grinning policeman was standing in front of him he could finally admit how much he'd missed his drinking buddy. "How did you know I was here?"_

_Greg shot a look to Mycroft who inclined his head in assent. "I brought you here. I was worried about you so I'd taken to following you around a bit. Lucky for you I followed you to that party."_

_John was oddly touched rather than annoyed. "I didn't see you there."_

_"No, you wouldn't. I thought you went outside for a bit of a good time, you know? Didn't want to interrupt. But then I heard you call him Sherlock, and the struggle... Well by the time I got to you he had taken off and left you in a bad way. I called Mycroft and we brought you here."_

"_Tell him all of it Lestrade," Mycroft said softly, pouring red wine into three glasses and handing them round. "Might as well get comfortable both of you."_

"_Ok," the silver haired man agreed, sitting down and motioning to John to join them. "This place… Well Mycroft and I created this place about twenty years ago. We call it the Haven, for want of a better name. It's hospital, hostel, and even home to some of us."_

"_Hang on. __**Us…? **__You mean you're one __**too**__? Is __**everyone**__ I know a fucking wolf? Molly? Mike Stamford? Was __**Sherlock**__?"_

"_No, not Sherlock," interrupted Mycroft. "Sherlock didn't know about any of this, though obviously we used our skills to keep him safe now and again."_

"_Baskerville?"_

"_Yes. We didn't know for sure that there wasn't a rogue wolf running around down there, so I sent Lestrade after you 'on holiday'."_

"_There are eight of us in the Pack, nine with you, though we're not sure of your status yet. Mycroft will explain that one to you later. You know us two, and you've met Anthea a few times. The others you'll get to meet in time. Emma and Gabe live here. Marcus, Mary and Daniel have their own places."_

_John took a long swallow of his wine, giving himself time to think. There were so many questions he needed to ask he didn't know quite where to begin. Perhaps at the start? "How did you two…?"_

"_We were turned by the same wolf within six months of each other. Mycroft was attacked whilst on business in Bulgaria in 1993. The wolf followed him back to London and I came upon them in the middle of a fight in the street. I thought it was a mugging, so stupidly I waded in and the bastard turned on me. Mycroft took care of me, and then eventually…"_

"_We took care of the Bulgarian. By that time there were three more survivors in London so we came together and tried to form a Pack for support. After a few months the other three had gone their own way, but we had others to care for. Accidents happen, and we tried to give them somewhere safe – a place to belong. The Haven started from there."_

_John's glass was empty. Mycroft filled it up and the doctor half drained it once more without even noticing. He had only changed once, but he could feel that strange electric buzz beneath his skin again. Mycroft had said something about needing to change every few days – it was three days, almost four now. "This is my life now, isn't it?" he said quietly. It hadn't really sunk in before. This was a break in normality, a temporary blip and everything would eventually right itself, but it hit him hard at that moment that a locked room in the Haven was just the start of a very different life. Mycroft laid a pale elegant hand over his clenched fist and squeezed reassuringly._

"_The difference is that you have us, with all our experience of hiding in plain sight and living a lie. There are eight other people who can show you how to live a relatively normal life and keep you safe." John looked between the two men and saw the sincerity in both their faces._

"_Well, if this is how it's going to be, bring it on…"_


	15. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_

_Mycroft closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against it. He and Lestrade had parted with a handshake and the promise to speak the following day once John had time to absorb their discussion, and now he was standing in John's room not sure if he would be welcome or not. He could hear the doctor moving around in the small bathroom, and a moment later the shower running. He took the gamble, stripping off his shirt, toeing off his shoes and socks, and entering the bathroom. John stood beneath the stream of water with it turned to full, eyes closed and face upturned, letting the powerful jets sting his face and chest. Mycroft marvelled at the trickles of water that made it over the broad musculature of his back, down through the narrowing of his hips and the hard curve of his glutes, and he imagined what it would be like to kiss those drops away while the bulk of the water pummelled the front of his body. _

"_Are you waiting for an invitation, or are you just going to stand and enjoy the view?" John's voice was gruff with emotion that he was clearly trying to keep in check. Was Mycroft supposed to ignore it? Acknowledge it? John decided for him when he uttered a strangled sob that he tried to disguise as a cough. Mycroft lost the remainder of his clothing and stepped into the shower behind the shorter man, gathering him up in to his arms and holding him close to his chest. John leaned against him, head bowed, and let go of the grief that had threatened to overwhelm him the moment he left the meeting room. Mycroft didn't tell him it would be ok, or that it would all get better; false comfort had never been of benefit to him in the past, and he didn't believe in offering it to others. When John finally heaved in a calming breath and stepped away from the circle of his arms, Mycroft reached for the bottle of shower gel, squeezing a generous amount into his palm and smoothing his hands over the younger man's shoulders, kneading at the tense muscles until the knots started to loosen. He worked his way methodically over John's body while the other man stood placidly, allowing him to glide his hands over his muscles in long soothing sweeps. The massage grounded him and chased back the buzz of his wolf that prowled just below the surface. He wasn't ready for him yet. As soon as the last suds were rinsed away John hugged the other man, twining his arms tightly around Mycroft's waist and smiling nervously up at him. "Thanks. Um, sorry about that. But thanks."_

"_Its fine," he replied, dropping his large hands to John's hips and stroking his fingertips lightly over the top of his buttocks. John sighed, sliding his hands up Mycroft's back and pulling him closer. He had to rise on his toes to kiss the taller man until Mycroft bowed his head so their lips could meet, angling their heads to avoid bumping noses. John darted his tongue along the seam of Mycroft's lips until he opened for him, letting him explore his lips, teeth and tongue with slow, sensuous kisses until the water grew cool._

_They dried off with only a cursory rub of the towels too eager to resume their kissing to bother about water dripping from their hair. Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed, pulling John to stand between his thighs and traced a finger along the lower edge of his pectoral. One drop of water trickled over the defined muscle and Mycroft indulged himself, chasing it with his tongue, lapping it away with tiny licks, following back up the path it had taken until he was nuzzling at John's neck. John gripped his shoulders, running his thumbs along both of Mycroft's collar bones, back and forwards, matching the rhythm of Mycroft's mouth on his neck where he sucked and licked._

"_You're going to give me a huge hickey," John chuckled._

"_Want me to stop?" Mycroft murmured against his tender skin._

"_God no! I've seen the way you look at me sometimes and lick your lips. I've had a lot of spare time to think about your mouth and to imagine what you could do with it." Mycroft pulled back a little shocked by John's forwardness, but the younger man's wicked grin was infectious. _

"_Are you always so direct?" Mycroft laughed shyly, stroking his hands down the smaller man's back to rest on his hips._

"_No, but I love the way it makes you blush. For the 'man in charge' you're very timid. You look at me like you want to devour me, but you touch me like I'm breakable." John's blue eyes shone with lust as he moved to press his lips against Mycroft's which were twitched in a nervous smile. He kissed his mouth, over his cheek, and up towards his ear, pressing his palms to the back of Mycroft's shoulders and guiding him closer. His breath ghosted over the Alpha's ear as he whispered "stop being so fucking cautious Myc. I want you, and you want me. Even if you hurt me, you said we heal quickly…?" _

_Mycroft growled deep in his throat, his wolf bounding to its feet in response to the sandy conundrum that prowled in ever decreasing circles around him. It was male, powerful, and more confident since the last time they met, but it also smelled like… not female, but arousing nonetheless. His red wolf whined and looked up at him in confusion when the sandy one came to stand by his side, leaning against his shoulder, pushing his broad head close to the leaner Alpha._

_Mycroft's eyes had darkened to midnight blue, his pupils blown wide with arousal. John was leaning into his chest, arms braced on the bed either side of the other man's hips, whispering in torrid detail what he wanted from Mycroft's mouth. Their erections slid together as John's words raised the heat between them and Mycroft wrapped one long fingered hand around both, clutching them together, his other slipping between John's buttocks to tease his hole. John groaned as a dry digit pressed against it painfully. Lube, they needed lube. Even in this heightened state of arousal and knowing they could heal damage quickly, there were limits to the pleasure-pain threshold that Mycroft wasn't willing to push yet with his new lover, even if John was eager. _

_He grabbed the small man roughly around the waist, lifting him bodily from the floor and slamming him onto the mattress. John made a small "oof!" of pain but it was forgotten instantly when Mycroft fell greedily onto his cock, sucking wetly on the tip and circling the base with his finger and thumb. John bucked his hips trying to push more of himself into the other man's mouth until Mycroft pressed his forearm across his lower belly to prevent his movement. His own cock was painfully hard and dripping onto the sheets as he crouched above his lover. "Oh fuck, yes Myc… just like that… Oh god… let me __**move**__!"_

_The red wolf stood over the other, teeth bared and growling softly. The new wolf lay beneath him, pale throat exposed. Slowly the red crouched, pressing his muscular body down over the other, owning the lesser and forcing him flat against the damp earth. The sandy wolf whined his submission._

_John's hands had found their way to Mycroft's hair, jamming his fingers through the short red strands and pulling hard. Mycroft opened his throat and took the blond man as far down as he could making John gasp when his lover swallowed, throat flexing around his prick. Pre-come was dribbling freely now and John's balls felt tight against his body as Mycroft worked his length, then the tall man braced both hands on the bed allowing John the freedom to thrust up into his eager mouth as hard and as deep as he wanted. John's fingers gripped his scalp painfully but it all served to drive them both on. The doctor shoved between his lips, jolting twice, three times and then came with a shout, flooding Mycroft's mouth in a hot musky rush that triggered his own release, pumping his hips and shooting thick ropes over John's legs and the pristine sheets._

_John sagged on the bed his softening cock plopping wetly from Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft rolled onto his side avoiding the mess on the sheets and laying his head on John's stomach, sighing contentedly when John's fingers smoothed over his hair. "Was that bold enough for you?"_

"_It's a start," John chuckled. "Will you stay?"_

_Mycroft answered without hesitation. "Yes, I want to be near you when you change tonight." He dropped a kiss to John's stomach and looked up at his shadowy eyes already heavy with sleep. "I want to be near you always."_

"_Good," John yawned. "Same here."_


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: still sticking loosely to the script with a few liberties taken :-)**

Chapter 15

John trudged heavily up the stairs at Baker Street chewing things over in his mind. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Sherlock over the last few days since his return, and a great deal of it wasn't good, but there was a part of his brain - a growing part - that was cautiously whooping with joy to be thrust back into his crazy, unpredictable company. It wasn't just that however. Last night, when Sherlock had dragged him from the flames and held him while he coughed the acrid smoke from his lungs John had seen fear, triumph and something else in the detective's tender expression, and it was that _something else_ that niggled at him. John suspected that his face had worn a similar expression in unguarded moments for much of the time he'd known Sherlock prior to his 'death', but to see it on Sherlock's face... Well he had never expected to see such devotion written there, naked and painful. A multitude of 'what ifs' nagged at him. What if Sherlock hadn't jumped? What if he hadn't stayed away two years? What if John had admitted his feelings for Sherlock before Bart's? What if... _What if he did so now?_

That didn't seem like an option. Too much water under the bridge, too many complications to unpick, too difficult to think about. Mary had urged him to consider it - too bloody sharp for her own good that one - curling up on his bed last night to ask the all-important question 'what if he's your happy ever after?' John had glared at her and answered shortly "then we're both royally fucked!" before diving under the covers until she took the hint and went away.

Then there was Mycroft to consider, even if he _was_ a deceitful, manipulative, cowardly bastard. For a while John was sure he was The One - had bought the ring and everything ready for the surprise proposal a few short days ago. He even had his speech prepared - _Mycroft, I know things haven't been easy between us in recent weeks, and I know we're not even together really, but I've come to realise I can't live without you. I missed you when you were away. I don't want us to be apart any longer and I want to make a commitment to you. Will you marry me?_ - But Sherlock, damn him, knew when to make an entrance to greatest effect to throw his world into chaos. John realised he didn't even know if Mycroft had arrived at the restaurant following their eviction. The most romantically significant event in his entire life and Sherlock-bloody-Holmes eclipses it! He had a hell of a lot of reasons to be angry with the man - _both_ men!

He could hear voices inside the flat and assumed Sherlock had the television on as background noise, so he was surprised to push the flat door open to find a couple in their late sixties sitting on the sofa. He probably should have been more surprised to find Sherlock standing on the sofa between them but he accepted it as one more sign Sherlock was settling back into his warped version of normality.

"John!"

"Sorry – you're busy."

Sherlock stepped down and began rudely ushering them to their feet. "They were just leaving."

"Oh, were we?"

"Yes!"

John hated when Sherlock was rude to clients yet they always seemed to give such glowing feedback. This couple seemed sweet and down to Earth, and not at all phased by the detective's odd behaviour. He shot them a brief smile. "No, no, if you've got a case..."

"No, not a case, no-no-no. Go. 'Bye."

John wandered to the window to give them all some privacy while they carried out a hushed conversation and Sherlock herded them out of the door. Finally after a few minutes more of muttered exchange Sherlock shoved the door closed behind them and sighed turning to John.

"Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine. Clients?"

" ... Just my parents."

"Your parents?" John stared at him incredulously, not quite able to make the connection between the pleasant normal seeming couple and the Holmes boys as he knew them. Maybe they were adopted? Nobody that normal could raise two such extraordinary children and remain sane! He looked out of the window still not quite believing his eyes. "Well... That is not what I... ". Sherlock glared at him with narrowed eyes. " I-I mean they're just ... so ... ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear."

"Did they know, too?" Sherlock wouldn't look at him.

"Hm?"

"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek."

"Maybe." The detective said evasively. Of course they knew. Sherlock's suicide was all over the news. Even Mycroft couldn't be that cruel to the people who loved Sherlock... Except for him, apparently. No, Mycroft kept him out of the loop, watched his life crumble and then rode in like some fucking white knight to pick up his pieces and give him a new life. One full of secrets and danger, just like his life with Sherlock had been, only sweeter because it came with the promise of reciprocated love. His face must have looked thunderous because Sherlock apologised again defensively, then just as John turned to leave he said it again, softly and with such sincerity it stopped the blond man in his tracks.

"Sorry."

One word loaded with everything that should have been said two years earlier. One simple _fucking_ word that undid John's resolve completely. In two strides he crossed the room, throwing his arms around the startled detective and hugging him so tightly Sherlock thought he may have cracked a rib. He glanced down preparing to deliver a sarcastic barb but before he could John Watson was on his toes, smashing his lips against his mouth in a clumsy bruising kiss. Sherlock froze, looking nervously down his nose to where their mouths were connected. "Um…" he managed.

"Um? That's all you have to say?" John stepped back with his arms crossed protectively across his chest looking up at the curly haired man who was still looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "Well that doesn't tell me a whole lot Sherlock. That doesn't tell me if that was something you wanted, or if it was the worst thing I could have done. It doesn't tell me if I totally misread you last night, or if I've just made the biggest fool of myself. So… do you think you could elaborate on 'um' because I think I just turned my entire life on its head _yet_ _again_ for you?" The detective slow-blinked, chewing on his lower lip, while his friend watched him anxiously. "Sherlock, please say _something_?"

"See you've shaved it off, then." _What_? That wasn't what John was expecting at all. He rubbed at his top lip distractedly.

"Yeah. Wasn't working for me."

"Mm, I'm glad."

"What, you didn't like it?"

"No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

"That's not a sentence you hear every day!" John sat in his old chair rubbing a hand across his face. The grazes and cuts on his head were almost healed, but he made a show of sitting carefully as though his body still ached from his ordeal. It had become second nature now to pretend that healing was human-slow. Most people didn't notice these things, but Sherlock wasn't 'most people'. The taller man was still standing on the same spot, a half smile curving his lips.

"Yes," Sherlock said, and John looked at him puzzled.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, it was – _is_- something I want. I just need some time to think. The case… well, it's all mixed up in my head and –" John went to him again, slipping his arms around Sherlock's waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder. After a moment Sherlock's hands came to rest on his hips, holding the smaller man firmly but maintaining some space between their bodies.

"That's… fine. Take all the time you need. I have things I need to sort out, but I don't want to waste more time." He tilted his head, pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "So this case…? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous." He twined his fingers through the doctor's and drew him towards his wall of information. "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"Give his life?"

"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know."

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes tightly to relieve the tension he could feel building behind them. Of course Mycroft would be involved in this somehow, and the agent that gave his life… Marcus Pinder, the man who had come between John and Myc. The case Sherlock needed to solve couldn't be a simple straightforward murder or a missing husband, it had to be something that would blow the last year of John's life apart and threaten any future he and Sherlock might have together.

"These are my rats, John."

"Rats?"

"My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth ..."

John followed Sherlock's finger to the grainy photograph of a man, sucking in a breath when he recognised the face from Mycroft's shadowy Pack business. "I know him, don't I?" he asked, not admitting the how. Mycroft had some serious explaining to do, if Sebastian Moran, wolf and traitor, was involved in this terrorist plot.

"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment."

"Yes!"

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?"

"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed." Sherlock whirled away from the wall, heading for the kitchen and leaving John to stare at the picture.

"He's no rat. He's the big bad wolf," he murmured under his breath.


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: Slightly later than normal and a little longer. Warning for sex. And just in case anybody worries that Gabe is 'too young' from the description I give, he's 24 and yet to grow up. And I love him lol**

_Chapter 16_

_John entered the empty lounge and looked around wondering where to sit. There were sofas, some covered in squishy fabric, others in firm leather, along with at least a half dozen different armchairs. Did people have their preferred 'spot'? Would they get upset if the newcomer sat in it? He jumped when a firm hand clapped on his shoulder until he realised it was Greg ushering him through the door and guiding him in the direction of a small open plan kitchenette in the corner. "Tea?" He asked John, who nodded mutely. "No need to be nervous you know? They're all pretty friendly when you get to know them, and they've all been exactly where you are at some point. Tea Dan?" He called across the room and a man's head, dark haired with glasses, peeked around the high back of a chair. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and nodded. "Not a chatter, our Daniel. Three daughters and a wife at home. He hides out here for a bit of peace."_

_Greg and John carried their tea to a couple of armchairs near the quiet Daniel who was engrossed in a book and barely acknowledged his mug when Greg set it on the table beside him. "Don't forget it!" He said loudly, and then to John "He will. Always does." John chuckled and sipped his tea, grateful for the familiar warmth and the couple of sugars Greg had added. He used to hate sugar in tea, but ever since... Well his tastes had changed significantly. "So Mycroft finally decided to do the meet and greet? He doesn't normally wait this long. Likes to get them back out into the real world as quickly as possible."_

_"So why is it different this time?"_

_"I think he's enjoyed having you to himself," Greg's eyes twinkled over the rim of his cup. "Apart from me all those years ago I've never known him take such a __**personal**__ interest in helping a newbie."_

_"Oh! I thought I must be a bit slow to get the hang of things."_

_"Nope, he's just a bit slow to let things go. Can I just ask though...? This thing you've got going with him... It __**is**__ about the two of you isn't it? It's not, y'know... A Sherlock thing?"_

_"What the hell is a __**Sherlock thing**__?" John bristled, glaring at his friend who was watching him with a concerned look, but before he could explain the lounge door crashed open and a lanky young man stalked in like a feral cat on the prowl. John stared, trying to make sense of the short cut dyed black and blue hair with its long floppy fringe falling into his eyes, the glittering metal piercings and the thick black eyeliner that put his tilted eyes in deep shadow and emphasised the sharp cheekbones. John had only seen cheekbones like that once before and he was shocked by the sudden pang of longing. The boy was shirtless, his pale golden skin decorated with multi-coloured tattoos that covered both arms, his shoulders and trailed intriguingly down to disappear into the skin-tight black jeans. He was barefoot, black designs curling around his bony toes as they padded purposefully across the floor. Ten seconds later he dropped into Greg's lap, throwing his long legs across the chair arm, and shoving skinny fingers through the DI's hair, pouting prettily at the other man's indignant "Oi, you git!"_

_John gaped as the boy snuggled against his friend's chest, leaning in to kiss Greg on the lips, the silver ring through his lip catching the light as their mouths moved together. "What the fuck...?" He murmured not believing what he was seeing._

_"Ignore them; they'll be fighting in ten minutes." He startled, looking up into a female version of the same face, but instead of pouting sullenness and bits of metal there was friendly slightly exotic looking warmth. "Hi, I'm Emma McInnery and that idiot is my annoying little brother Gabriel. They have a love/hate relationship depending on who's around to irritate or impress."_

_"You're Irish," John blurted out, immediately feeling stupid, but she just grinned at him._

_"It was the classic Celtic colouring that gave it away wasn't it?" She teased. "Dad was Irish, Mam was Thai. We grew up in Dublin."_

_"So what brought you to London?" He stood to offer her his seat but she shook her head and dropped gracefully to the floor where she sat cross legged between the two arm chairs. She shoved roughly at the patterned feet that dangled near her face._

_"This one! Ran away when he was fourteen and I came looking for him. Greg found him before I did."_

_The young man scowled at his sister, wriggling provocatively in Greg's lap. The older man's hair was standing on end and his lips were plumped from being thoroughly snogged by the gorgeous youth. John had never seen him look so dazed in all the years they'd known each other, and he'd been unfortunate enough to witness a few of his friend's drunken snogging sessions in the past. Greg grinned over at him. "John, this is Gabe, my... Whatever the hell you are..." He smirked at the kid and the boy giggled. "Gabe, this is my friend John."_

_"Yeah, the prick's new dick. I heard you going at it plenty."_

_"Be nice!" Warned Greg as the boy unfolded his lanky frame and headed for the fridge._

_"Fuck off!" He replied cockily. Emma sighed and rolled her eyes._

_"He's ok once you get to know him, just thinks he has to put on the big guy act all the time. Greg, stop encouraging him, you're old enough to know better." __**O**__**ld enough to be his father**__, __John thought. __**I know, but it's complicated, **__the voice came back in his mind, causing John's head to shoot up._

_"What?" He said out loud. __**Don't judge John, he's older than he looks and he needs me. I was the one who turned him.**__ "How are you doing that?" John asked._

_Emma glared at Greg. "Private chat or can the whole room hear?"_

_"Sorry Em," Greg said sheepishly, "just trying to explain to John about..." He nodded to Gabe whose head was stuffed in the fridge. "Em's a primary school teacher, can you tell?"_

_Emma smiled up at John, pushing her long black hair over her shoulder. The tiny lines around her eyes said she was older than she looked too but she really was stunning and John found himself grinning back like an idiot. "Gabe still feels a lot of guilt because he attacked me. I've forgiven him but he can't forgive himself. Greg helps him with that - they both know what it's like to accidentally create a new wolf - and he's straightened him out in other ways - got him off the heroin and found him a job helping kids in a youth group. He may look like an angry young man but he's got a lot of heart."_

_There was movement at the door and Mycroft came in talking animatedly with a small blonde woman and being tailed by Anthea as usual. The brunette looked up briefly to throw John a quirk of her lips that might have been a smile, and to scowl at the skinny denim clad rear at the fridge before returning to her phone. Mycroft smiled over at him and John's heart gave a little stutter. The Alpha glanced around doing a mental head count, then when satisfied he settled on the seat opposite Daniel. The blonde sat beside him._

_"Right, all present who can be. Marcus sends his apologies; he's out of the country right now. We're here to meet John and welcome him to the Pack. I don't want this to turn into a Boy Scout meeting, let's just get straight to the point. Lestrade and I believe it's time for John to leave the Haven and settle back into his life." Greg's eyebrows shot up and he gave John a wink which suggested his input to the decision may have been fabricated. "Mary has agreed you can move in with her John. She's going to act as a sort of handler for a while. She'll help you reintegrate, learn to manage your triggers, escort you on runs and generally keep you right. She has a job at your former surgery as a receptionist - they are looking for a new locum and we will ensure you secure the post."_

_John's brain was working overtime. Moving in with a woman he didn't know - the blonde presumably, seeing as he was acquainted with Anthea and Emma - and going back to a job in a surgery that had him on a disciplinary a few weeks ago, seemed like madness. He was safe here, couldn't hurt anyone, and if he wasn't __**right here**__ how could he be with Myc... __**Stop worrying, I'll still see you as often as I can. You need to get back to a normal life though and Mary's the best partner for you.**__ John tried hard to think back a response but Mycroft gave no recognition he had understood. "Any objections, no? Good, settled then."_

_"Fuckwit!" Mycroft smiled benignly at Gabe's insult as the young man swaggered across the room and dropped onto Greg's lap once more, nuzzling into his neck and tonguing along the shell of his ear until the other man was gripping his biceps and trying not to openly grope him. Mary approached John and cast a disgusted glance at the pair. "Use his bloody room Greg if you must! God Emma how do you stand it?"_

_Emma shrugged. "If he's happy, I'm happy." Mary scowled._

_"Want to make some plans John?" He nodded and the blonde sat on the floor at his other side, refusing his offer of the seat too. What was it with the women in this place rejecting his chivalrous acts? There was a tinkling laugh in his head. __**The wolf will make you forget your manners soon enough, then there's only Pack hierarchy that matters. **__He looked across to Anthea who winked at him. John and the two women talked easily, making plans for him to move into Mary's flat the following week. After a while Greg and Gabe got a little too hot and heavy for the room and left giggling when Mary threw a cushion at them and Emma complained "oh god, my eyes!"_

_Mycroft appeared at his elbow. "I'll send you any other details tomorrow Mary, but right now I need to debrief this man."_

_"What? Oh!" He smirked at Mary's knowing grin excusing himself with random 'good nights', to the other inhabitants of the room. Greg hadn't got far, pressed as he was to the corridor wall by the writhing tattooed boy grinding into his pelvis. "Get a room you two," he joked as he shuffled past to his room._

_He was joined two minutes later by Mycroft who immediately wrapped himself around his lover, mouthing wet kisses over his neck. John was slightly embarrassed to admit watching Greg and Gabe kiss had aroused him, but when Mycroft pressed himself against his back he could feel a matching hardness rubbing against his lower back. They lost their clothes quickly and Mycroft popped the cap on a bottle of lube coating his fingers generously. He twined them through John's hands slicking them up too then guided them to the doctor's erect cock to grip and glide up his length. John moaned at the erotic touch of their joined hands, trying to rock his hips into the pleasuring cocoon of fingers. "Keep going," whispered Mycroft as he disentangled his hands, sliding one hand between John's legs to cup and roll the loose skin over his balls and the other dipped between his arse cheeks to lightly tease his hole. The multiple sensations were incredible but none quite enough, making him whimper with need. His hands began to move more frantically of their own accord just to make one pleasure centre dominate but Mycroft upped the game, breaching his arsehole with one long digit that he dipped in time with John 's tight pulls._

_"Oh god Myc that feels so good." Mycroft chuckled, easing in another finger with the next thrust, making John gasp at the increased fullness and his knees feel a little weak._

_"Do you like the way Gabe kisses Greg? I saw you watching them. "_

_"S... Sorry. Greg looked like he was desperate for him and it was so h... Oh, hot!" He yelped as Mycroft added a third finger, ceasing the thrusting and scissoring and stroking his inner walls instead. He let go of his cock, leaning his hands on the bed and letting Mycroft stretch and tease his tight hole._

_"I agree, but you trying not to drool was hotter. You really can't help checking other people out can you?" Mycroft brushed one fingertip across his prostrate making John's cock jerk._

_"Are you mad?"_

_"Does this feel like I'm mad?" He passed over the sensitive spot again and John groaned. His cock felt like it was going to explode and Mycroft was fucking __**talking**__ to him instead of just..._

_"Myc shut up and just fuck me!"_

"_If you insist. Lie on the bed, buttocks on the edge." John obeyed, startling when he felt the mechanical rise of the hospital bed putting his arse at the perfect height for his partner. Mycroft grinned down at the blond man who was already pulling lazily at his prick. "Now who looks desperate? You're not going to last long if you do that." He raised John's legs against his shoulders and pressed into him in one long firm shove that had John grappling for the sheets with both hands, his former activity forgotten with the overwhelming presence inside him._

_"Oh yes... Please..." Mycroft eased out slowly letting John feel every inch of his loss before ramming home. John's fingers splayed across the white expanse of the bed as he withdrew again and then gripped like claws when his lover filled him over and over in a brutal but slow rhythm that had the small man begging for mercy._

_"What's mercy?" Mycroft chuckled breathlessly. The effort to maintain control when enveloped in tight wet heat was killing him, and a sheen of sweat glittered on his skin, dampening his dark red hair to black._

_"Hard, fast," John ground out, reaching for his straining cock once more. A pool of slippery precome had gathered on his belly. He scooped it up on one finger and offered up his hand to Mycroft. The other's mouth closed around his fingertips sucking greedily and John almost came right then when his agile tongue licked between them. "Myc ..." He cried, bucking his hips to get the other man moving inside him, which he did, delivering up a punishing series of thrusts that had John keening. _

_"Come for me," Mycroft panted, one hand gripping John's thigh so hard he would leave bruises. John was so close that when he took himself in hand, it only took a few sharp tugs before he was coming, shooting great streams over his stomach and chest, and seconds later Mycroft pushed hard into him, riding his own orgasm to conclusion in hot sweet rushes._

_It was almost painful to withdraw, and John winced as Mycroft lowered his legs, shuffling him around so he could lie on the bed. Mycroft crossed the room on slightly unsteady legs and returned with damp cloths to clean themselves up, grinning at John's just-fucked glazed look. "I'm going to miss you just dropping in for a quickie," John said._

_"I know love but we'll see as much of each other as I can manage. I have to go away for a couple of weeks, so this is a good time to get you settled elsewhere. Mary will be good for you. You can be trained without her trying to get you undressed... It's my one failing. I love you."_

"_Oh thanks, yeah. I guess it's a good time." He snuggled next to the other man ready to sleep, both of them pretending it didn't matter that John hadn't said he loved Mycroft too._


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: This story keeps taking me in intriguing directions... There is a point to it all!**

_Chapter_ 17

_The park was silent as the five figures squeezed through the broken fence and walked towards a stand of bushes large enough to conceal them. John walked between Mary and Emma, chatting and laughing, even flirting a little. Mary had a girlfriend apparently but Emma was single... Not that he was interested, but she was __**interesting**__! She clearly loved her job and entertained him with stories of the little kids she taught. "Didn't you worry you'd be a danger to them?"_

_"Yes of course, but I followed my training and listened to everything I was told. I make sure I practice the techniques even now and if things start going wrong I get myself out of there."_

_"Does it happen often?"_

_"Only twice. Both times I called Greg and he came for me with some sort of family emergency story. The downside is the other staff now thinks he's my boyfriend."_

_"Is that a bad thing? He's a really good bloke, and he's single. At least I thought he was..." He looked back to where Greg and Gabe were trailing behind. The young man was dancing around the elder, arms waving as he told some tale and Greg was laughing along with him. He was taller than the DI by a few inches and it was odd to see him looking up at someone for a change. The boy slung an arm across his shoulders and pecked him on the cheek, and they walked like that to where John and the women waited._

_"Mary, your instructions?" Greg asked. Gabe wrapped himself around the policeman watching the others warily, and Greg absently petted his arm._

_"Ok, this is John's first change outdoors and as we know that tends to go a bit crazy. All sorts of amazing scents that we don't normally notice become simply irresistible. Our job is to have fun but keep John from running off after a rabbit straight into the main road."_

_"You're joking right? I am __**not**__ chasing rabbits!"_

_Greg chuckled and clapped him on the back. "Oh mate... rabbits, rats, hedgehogs, birds, squirrels... You won't know which way to run! You're going to be sniffing our butts too - get used to it. Oh watch out for Gabe though - he nips if you get too familiar." The boy in question actually growled at him and moved to put Greg between them._

_"He's right John, you're going to be overwhelmed by new sensations out here and you need to know how to deal with them to keep yourself and us safe. We're going to change then we're going to let have free range, but only within the park. If you get too close to a boundary one of us will turn you back ok? We're also going to be doing some bonding first to help strengthen your connection to us."_

_"Bonding?"_

_"Butt sniffing," sniggered Greg and Gabe giggled too._

_"For god's sake Greg, when you're with him you turn into a juvenile!" Scolded Mary. "It'll come naturally John, don't worry and if these two misbehave they'll have my wolf to answer to. Right, where do you stand on nudity between friends? If you want some privacy that's fine, but we're quite used to being naked around each other while we change. It's probably something you'll need to get used to sooner or later."_

_"I was in the army and I'm a doctor - bare flesh doesn't bother me much."_

_"Ok, let's get started then. Emma, Gabe and I will change first, then you guys. It's still taking John a little longer to change in a controlled way so watch over him Greg while we check the place for potential problems."_

_The girls and Gabe stripped quickly stowing their clothes under a nearby bush. John mostly resisted temptation to look, peeking once just to get an appreciation of the general female form on display, but it was Gabe that caught his eye. The young man had his back to him looking across the park. His arrogant pose gave him the appearance of a beautifully cast statue made of pale gold, intricately decorated with bright enamelled designs. The tattoos covered his body, flowing into each other like one continuous artwork. He was breathtaking. "Now do you get it?" Greg said at his elbow._

_"Not really," John replied honestly. "You're so different... I'd be less surprised if you were shagging the Queen. But he is stunning, I'll give you that. Where do the tattoos and piercings go? And how do they come back?"_

_"They're still on his skin under the fur. It's not like he's going to be a multi-coloured wolf is it? The piercings... We don't really know how that works. Clothing tends to get wrecked if we're wearing it when we change, but the piercings just come right back. Occasionally a piercing will stay in wolf form which looks strange. The tongue piercing freaked us out a little the first time it stayed."_

_"Tongue...? Jesus Christ! Is there anything that isn't adorned with metal? And how does it appeal to you!" _

_Greg winked. "Nothing below the waist. And he's a great kid, fun to be around."_

_"Bloody hell, the Greg I know dates normal people, __**women**__ mainly, not needy camp Goth boys. Do you start a relationship with every one you turn, no matter how inappropriate?"_

_"Ouch! Didn't realise you were so judgemental. At least I'm not shagging someone as a substitute for their dead brother."_

_"What did you say?" John's voice was low and deadly as he faced his friend. Greg's usually open friendly face showed the hurt and anger he felt at John's attitude but he was beginning to regret his dig about Mycroft. He waited for the first punch to land, but before it could a large black wolf bounded between them snarling at the doctor. John took several rapid steps backwards putting space between him and Gabe's furious wolf. "Might've known he'd be black. How bloody predictable."_

_"Fuck you!" Greg was undressing, tearing off his clothes angrily and stuffing them under the bush without any care. "Change now, before he completely loses it. I can't swear I'd step in to help you right now." John's eyes widened but he complied quickly keeping a cautious eye on the growling black beast a few feet away._

_It took John over ten minutes to complete his change, forcing the sandy wolf to overcome him slowly. He lay panting on the grass waiting for the surge of energy that came when his brain accepted the change of form. In the shadow of the trees the brown and black wolves played, nipping and cuffing one another, chasing a few feet and dropping low so the other tumbled over the top. There was enough of John's presence in the wolf's mind to recognise them as Greg and Gabe, but it had no interest in the bickering of men. He wanted to join the game._

_He crept forward keeping low to the ground, and then put on a sudden burst of speed cannoning into the pair. The brown wolf sensed him coming and crouched, but the black was completely taken off guard and the two crashed together, legs and tails flailing. Immediately the black was on his feet lunging for him and holding onto his foreleg until the sandy wolf rolled onto him with his full weight. John became aware the brown wolf was __**laughing**__ at them, jaws open and tongue lolling. __**Having fun?**__ Gabe rolled to his feet dislodging John and trotted to Greg's side, nudging his muzzle into the other's side until the brown wolf rolled over. The skinny black wolf sat down between his fore and hind legs looking alert and on guard._

_John approached the other two more cautiously this time, circling around Greg's broad back on the far side from Gabe whose emerald green eyes followed him until he couldn't turn his head further. Greg's head flopped back exposing his throat but it was a sign of trust rather than submission. He flicked his ears as John sniffed his head and neck, snuffling down his flank, until he settled against the brown wolf's side head resting on his ribs. _

_Gabe shifted and growled at something on the far side of the clearing, ears pricking and nose twitching. The sandy wolf was immediately alert looking to the same spot, but the brown wolf simply yawned. A moment later two pale wolves, one silver grey, the other almost pure white, slunk into the clearing. The black wolf rose and trotted to them tail wagging and greeting the white first with a lick and a brush along her body, then approached the silver, crouching and nuzzling at her mouth. John recognised Mary's silver wolf, having practiced changing with her back at the Haven, so the white must be Emma. _

_**Lazy boys. Chase?**__ The female wolves danced, bowing and yipping with tails high, darting in to friskily nip at the brown wolf that growled playfully in return but didn't seem inclined to move. Suddenly the white wolf turned and nipped at John, dashing off across the grass, tail bobbing teasingly behind her. He was off after her before the other wolves could react, streaking like lightning in pursuit of the bouncing white target that raced ahead. _

_It felt wonderful to run, to stretch out his limbs and work his muscles, pushing himself to gain on the swift white female. He had been cooped up in the Haven for over five months, only stepping outside to the tiny rooftop garden for some fresh air as warmer spring evenings arrived, so the past two weeks since he had moved out to Mary's flat had given him a welcome taste of freedom. He still went everywhere with her, letting her coach him through the unexpected bursts of anger, or panic attacks that could trigger a change. Even something as simple as an unexpected blare of a car horn could have his wolf pushing at his boundaries, eager to explore the city for itself. Mary had encouraged him to change every day, sometimes twice or three times if the wolf was active, and each time it got easier to control, less messy._

_A flash of brown on his left, silver on his right, and the chase was on for real. The brown wolf ran close by his side veering him off course, and it was only when he caught the flash of headlights through the metal fence that he realised they'd reached one of the outer limits of the park. The white wolf was already tearing away to the right, running alongside the silver, both visions of dangerous beauty flowing across the ground. The black wolf raced behind them, gaining with every stride, like a lean dense shadow, and within moments he had overtaken them, skidding around at the top of the bank and careering back towards them until they all crashed into a small stand of trees. The three huge animals hurtling through the undergrowth flushed smaller animals from their hiding places and at least half a dozen rabbits dashed for safety, only to find themselves heading straight for the other two wolves._

_John got both sight and smell of a rabbit at the same instant, a delicious tantalizing scent that made him drool. It turned sharply and he followed it, claws scrabbling at the earth to make the tight turn. They ran towards the southern end of the park, the other wolves in hot pursuit, but all of John's focus was on the flit of white tail that bounded ahead. So intent was he on it that he failed to notice his surroundings. The rabbit made a last ditch attempt to save its skin, flipping itself sideways to confuse it's pursuer who couldn't quite make the turn. John span round, paws scrabbling uselessly at the stone flags that surrounded the pond as he slid tail first to splash spectacularly into the water._

_The murky water was an icy cold shock and he yelped in a mouthful of water before his brain registered how to swim. By the time he clambered back onto the patio, dripping wet and indignant, the other four were pacing by the pond in a distinctly amused manner and the rabbit was long gone. He glared at them malevolently then shook himself hard, spattering stinking pond water everywhere._

_They trotted back to their clothes at a more leisurely pace, the other four bumping and nipping, dancing and playing, while he sulked and snapped at any who tried to include him. Eventually Gabe and Greg raced ahead, Mary chasing after them, leaving Emma to keep him company. They loped along close together in companionable motion until she scampered off into the tree line, stopping in the shadows to look back at him. Without a second thought he followed her, pushing through the dense ferns into a small clearing where she lay down and watched him approach. __**Change?**_

_Her wolf faded, flowing back into her body in a rush to leave her lying naked and lovely on the soft mossy ground, black hair spilling over her pale shoulder. The golden hue of her skin was washed out in the dim light, replaced by a monochrome palette of light and shade, but she was still beautiful. John wrestled his wolf back, far less elegantly but with plenty of enthusiasm, until he lay on the ground beside her, only inches away. She smiled at him coyly, propping herself up on one elbow, one hand resting lightly on her hip. "Is this ok?"_

"_Um, yeah. It's ok… very much so."_

"_Ok then." When he hesitated to make a move she took the initiative, stroking a hand over his chest and up to his shoulder, lingering on the scar for a moment, and then running her hand down his muscular arm. He captured her hand, placing it on his hip and moving the short distance to put their bodies as close as they could be without being joined, then he was kissing her throat, her neck, down over her shoulder, one hand cupping her breast and stroking his thumb over her taught nipple. She moaned encouragingly, falling on to her back and pulling him on top of her, wrapping her legs around his hips and rubbing herself against him. He wasn't fully hard but she was clearly determined to get him there, seeking his mouth and kissing him passionately, her tongue dipping and sliding between his lips in delicate sensuous laps. He slid against her easily, his cock gliding against her sensitive clit making her wetter and him harder, until he entered her in one smooth push. He'd forgotten how good it could be with a woman – no need for prep or lube, just impromptu sex for the fun of it, anytime, anywhere. She arched up beneath him as he moved inside her, in a slow languorous rhythm, and when she begged for him to move faster and harder he obliged, holding back until she gripped him hard with her thighs and arms, clinging to him through the sweet explosion of her orgasm. Only then did he allow himself to let go, thrusting to his own climax and sagging breathlessly against her shoulder when he was spent._

"_I think you needed that," she giggled, shoving gently at his shoulders so he'd move. "But you smell like pond."_

"_Hm, don't take this the wrong way, but you smell like Mycroft," he frowned puzzled._

_She laughed out loud at that, not seeming the least bit offended. "It's not Mycroft specifically, and it's not really just a smell. It's the Pack bond you're sensing. I guess we just strengthened it fairly significantly."_

"_Oh! Will the others know?"_

"_We've been gone for at least twenty minutes and no one's come looking for us. What do you think?"_

"_Shit! I, um…"_

"_Relax. No one will make a big deal of it, not even Mycroft, and if he does, well… It's not like he's innocent." She got to her feet, helping him up and began pushing her way back through the trees. It was less pleasant in human form, far more scratchy and rough, but he was more concerned with what she'd just let slip._

"_Hang on, what do you mean? You said Myc wasn't innocent. How?"_

"_Forget I said anything, it's nothing. Isn't he home this weekend? Sure he's really eager to tell you all about his trip." She set off at a brisk jog preventing any further attempt at conversation, but her comments bothered him all the way home._


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: Recent past, short chapter (sorry!)**

Chapter 18

The dark haired man wheeled the bike into the derelict building and stripped off his helmet and leathers leaving them in a neat pile by the front wheel. His change happened in a flash, one minute a slim pale-skinned man, the next a lean black wolf. He shook out his coat and stretched, then padded out into the night. His circuit of the factory buildings took a little over half an hour, carefully checking each potential hiding place for unexpected guests, but all he uncovered was a city fox and a couple of feral cats scrapping over the remains of a dead pigeon. It was days old and stank to high heaven, but he supposed it was a rich prize for the bony felines. Satisfied he was alone for now he returned to the bike, changed and pulled on the trousers and boots, sitting down on the dusty floor to wait.

Moran's black Mercedes pulled into the courtyard twenty minutes later, fifteen minutes after their scheduled appointment. The dark haired man smiled at the other's blatant attempt to show he wouldn't come running to heel when his master clicked his fingers, but it was a toothless display not worthy of acknowledging. He waited in the shadows for the nervous Lord to exit his car, taking note of the hand gestures he made to his driver that gave a good indication of the location of his snipers. Good. That told him exactly where to stand to ensure both red dots would waver on his chest. Moran didn't want him dead; he wanted him scared so he believed he had the upper hand. Such a pathetic excuse for a man, though pretty. He let him wait ten minutes, shoes shuffling in the dirt as he shifted his briefcase from hand to hand.

"Ah good, you're here already," he said, stalking down the crumbling steps. "You have something I need to see? I hope it's _fascinating_. I don't want to come all the way out here to look at your holiday snaps."

Moran looked satisfyingly flustered as he approached. Always good to keep him on his toes. The wavy haired man flipped his case onto the bonnet of the car without any care for the paintwork and pulled out an A4 white envelope. "Photographs yes, but not exactly holiday snaps. Long lens stuff, but clear, and scandalous enough to bring Mycroft Holmes to his knees."

"Ugh, scandal!" He pulled an uninterested face but took the proffered envelope. "Unless Holmes is actually _on_ his knees with the Prime Minister's dick in his mouth it's worthless. The man is Teflon-coated." Moran looked puzzled and he sighed; he hated having to explain his witticisms. "Nothing sticks, no dirt, no scandal. It all just slides off his smug pretty face." That said, the photos were tasty and would probably cause a minor flurry in the Sunday rags for a week or two. Mycroft Holmes and their high-profile diplomat at an intimate table for two in a restaurant, heads close together, possibly having just kissed. Later the same evening, according to the time stamp, bare chested and embracing in a hotel room, and another that looked like they were bed-rumpled. None of them caught anything incriminating but the gutter press could make a feast of it and the paparazzi would happily chase the two men around London for weeks attempting find a story where there was likely none. None of it would serve his purpose however. He thrust the photographs back at Moran and narrowed his eyes. "How does this help?"

"Well, it would be a distraction for Holmes at the least? And it's a way to get Pinder out of the way."

"Oh Sebastian, my dear. Marcus Pinder has served his purpose. Everything we needed from him is ours, and he does indeed need to be disposed of, but I require something significantly more permanent. He can identify us and that would never do. I assume you have more than this to confirm they are lovers? I want Mycroft Holmes dangling on my hook and if he's grieving it might make it that little bit easier."

"You want me to kill Pinder?"

"No, I want you to take him out dancing! Of course I want you to kill him; you really are a little dim. Pinder returns to London this weekend and will be back with his Pack. Set up a meeting with Holmes and give him more of your pointless little secrets. Make sure something goes wrong. Does he know you're dealing with Pinder too?"

"No, of course not. I've been careful."

"Perfect. Oh the look on his face when you make the big reveal. It will be priceless, I'm certain." He clapped his hands in glee. The downfall of Mycroft Holmes would go largely unnoticed by the world, he had such a carefully maintained cloak of insignificance, but it would give him vast personal satisfaction to bring him down. Even more so than the fireworks he and Sebastian had planned. Two months until Guy Fawkes Night. It was going to be explosive!


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Sherlock had made tea, not even considering that John might want to leave or may have somewhere else he needed to be. The detective had raised an eyebrow at his request for sugar, but had rifled through the cupboards until he came up with an out of date, yet unopened, small packet of caster sugar, that was probably safe to use. John was home, back where he should be at 221b, and therefore the world was set to rights, enough that the detective could focus completely on his problem. A few minor changes in taste and personality were to be expected over two years. For John, sitting at the dining table, and watching the Tube train footage for the third time, it felt good to be back in the thick of it, working companionably alongside the man on a mystery, but he knew there were things that needed to be resolved before he could commit to moving back here permanently.

"What are you thinking John?"

John leaned back in his chair. The detective was leaning against the kitchen counter cradling a mug expecting some observations about the film but all John could think of was Sherlock and Mycroft, and how he could possibly choose between them. He swallowed and looked at the screen again. "Yeah, that's ... odd. There's nowhere he could have got off?"

"Not according to the maps."

"Mm." Sherlock had turned back to his wall of information again, scanning the pictures and following the lines. A mobile phone beeped and John plucked his from the table hoping for a message from Mycroft, but it was Sherlock's phone that had chirped. He took it from his pocket and studied the small screen while John quickly typed out a message to the elder brother and pressed send. _We need to talk._ It looked like a clichéd break-up message but that couldn't be helped. Less than a month ago they had been holed up in a hotel suite in each other's arms cautiously making plans to move into the future together once Myc had returned from his business trip. On the strength of that weekend John had made the foolish decision to propose. But then his wish came true, Sherlock wasn't dead, and Myc - Sherlock's brother and John's _lover_ - had known it all along. John had questions and Mycroft couldn't avoid him forever.

John felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Sherlock's face. The detective was wearing a frown, staring at the phone in John's hand, and then he shook his head as if throwing off a thought and stroked his hand over John's hair. John surreptitiously concealed his phone in his pocket. "What are you doing? Casual touching isn't normally you."

"I don't know what's normal anymore," he said softly. "When I was away, so many times I imagined how it would be when I came back. I don't think I ever touched your hair before but there was this false memory of it that I kept remembering."

"Right. That's..."

"Odd?" they both chuckled. "Yes I know. But still..." he pushed his long thin fingers through the short strands from the nape of John's neck to the crown of his head. It stuck out in all directions, fluffing up into a crazy mess as Sherlock moved the pads of his fingers lightly across his scalp.

"That feels, um... It's quite nice actually."

Sherlock hummed in agreement bringing his other hand into play and increasing the pressure so he was massaging tiny circles over John's skull. The doctor closed his eyes, enjoying the soothing sensation and unusual intimacy. The next thing he knew his chair scraped backwards across the floor and Sherlock plonked himself in his lap straddling his thighs, pushing his fingers back into the fluffy blond strands at the nape of John's neck. Bizarrely John's first thought was that he needed a haircut. The second was that Sherlock's lips were descending and his friend was going to kiss him. He pulled back a fraction and Sherlock frowned, crinkling his ice-green eyes, but not pausing in his determination to achieve his objective. The gentle pressure of his fingers on the back of John's head kept him where Sherlock wanted him, and when his lips landed they were firm and sure, parting John's own so the tip of his tongue could glide along their opening.

John made a small sound of surprise, and then he was kissing him back with far less tenderness. He shoved his hands through Sherlock's tangled curls, ignoring the detective's hiss of pain when one snagged, and moved his mouth aggressively over the other man's. John poured all his anger and grief into the kiss, softening it with his joy at being reunited with his incredible friend, unaware of the hot tears that spilled down his cheeks. Sherlock whimpered when John grazed his lip, the metallic tang of blood welling between them, but rather than pull back he tried to take more, thrusting his tongue into the cavern of his mouth. The taste was an alarm bell to John however and he pushed Sherlock away, holding him back, both of them breathing heavily. Crap, how much blood... How much was too much...?

"Oh god Sherlock, I'm sorry... We need to stop." Sherlock's expression shuttered into a careful mask as he tried to stand up but John's arms slid around his waist holding him tightly. His forehead dropped to Sherlock's stiff shoulder and when he spoke again his voice was muffled. "I want this, more than you could ever know, but I'm with... someone... Please, just give me some time to work this out?" There was an irritable huff of breath over his ear and a sharp movement that John took to be a nod.

"I'm sorry. Mycroft said you'd found someone and were happy. When I met her I thought... Well you didn't seem close."

"What? Met who?"

"Mary."

"_Mary?_ No, we're not... We're friends, flat mates."

"Oh. Right, yes, time... _Time_, to sort things out, of course." He pulled away and this time John let him go regretfully. It was the right thing to do but god, it hurt. "There's something – something, something I'm missing, something staring me in the face."

Sherlock turned to the wall again pulling his phone from his pocket when it beeped. John pulled his chair back to the table and turned to the laptop once more musing about which terrorist organisation might be responsible. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I've been an idiot – a blind idiot!" Sherlock was pacing, his phone waving in his hand. "Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant."

"What are you on about?"

"Mycroft's intelligence – it's not nebulous at all. It's specific – incredibly specific." John wasn't surprised. In the year he and Mycroft had been close he'd come to learn the elder brother was never vague about anything, and he wouldn't say anything to anyone unless he had cast iron facts and evidence. He knew Moran was involved even before Sherlock had picked him out as chief rat, so why not just say so?

"What do you mean?"

"Not an underground network, John. It's an Underground network."

"Right. ... What?"

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you in the face. Look – seven carriages leave Westminster ... but only six carriages arrive at St James's Park."

Sherlock was right, the entire Tube compartment had gone, and Moran with it, but there was nowhere for it to go between the two stations. But everything had to be _somewhere_!

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

"It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You're kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks par... What's the date, John – today's date?"

"Hm? November the ... My God."

"Lord Moran – he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill. But he won't be there. Not tonight. Not the fifth of November."

"Remember, remember."

"Gunpowder treason and plot."

Sherlock grinned at him, still a trace of uncertainty lingering under his excitement. There was a smear of blood on his lip that made John's stomach lurch - please let a little cut like that not matter...


	21. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20_

_Greg wove his way across the beer garden to where John sat basking in the early evening sunshine looking out at the lazy Thames. Once this was a regular Friday night activity but then their grieving processes had taken different directions and the time that elapsed between meetings grew longer as John sank further into depression. Not that he acknowledged it as depression back then, throwing himself into the questionable nightlife of the seedier side of London looking for something - __**anything**__ - to give him that same high he got from Sherlock. Greg stopped going out too, and kept an eye on his friend from a distance, trailing around after him unseen. Mycroft helped, claiming to be keeping a promise to Sherlock that he would care for the man in the event of his demise, but it seemed the other Holmes had a personal motive too that no one, not even Greg, had suspected._

_"Don't you ever want to go on a date?" John asked, taking the icy cold pint from him and swallowing a large mouthful._

_"What? This __**isn't**__ a date? Are you asking me out __**officially**__ now?" Teased Greg, mischievous brown eyes twinkling over the rim of his glass._

_"Twit! I mean with Gabe. You never actually go out as a couple, yet you can't keep your hands off each other at the Haven or the safe house, or even on runs. You disappear together and no one comments, but you never date."_

_Greg shrugged. "Why would he want to be seen with me? What would his mates think?"_

_"That he has a partner that loves him?"_

_"Love?" Greg scoffed, but he looked sad. "Anyway we have a sort of working relationship out here. He was one of Sherlock's homeless network for a while before I... Before I took him to the Haven. He gets me information... Not quite Sherlock's calibre but it's a good excuse for me to help him out with a bit of cash without it feeling like charity."_

_"You're an idiot. I may not understand the attraction but he's head over heels with you and you should stop being such a coward. What if...? What if you lost him tomorrow?"_

_"You and I have the same affliction John; we need to care about people. I'd get over it."_

_"Yeah, just like I got over Sherlock. I was doing __**great**__ at that. Took a while but Myc helped me appreciate seizing the day."_

_Pleased to find an opening to turn the conversation away from him, Greg said, "Speaking of Mycroft, I thought you two would be cozied up somewhere tonight celebrating his return?"_

_"He's not back until tomorrow."_

_"Yes he is, he got back last night. Brought Marcus with him. He didn't call you?"_

_"No, I guess he was busy. He'll probably call later. So the mysterious Marcus is back too? What's he like?"_

_Greg snorted. "Wildly good looking and deeply unpleasant. Imagine Sherlock with improved social skills and absolutely no morals. Sexy, intelligent and nasty and he actually works for Mycroft in some discreet capacity. He'd make a good Bond villain."_

_"Sounds intriguing."_

_"Sounds like a wanker, and he is. Can't stand the man; none of us can apart from Emma who believes the best of everyone. He despises us all equally and he'll __**hate**__ you, because you've got what he wants. Mycroft believes the sun shines out of his arse but he won't give Marcus what he craves, which is essentially power, but he thinks he can sleep his way to the top."_

_"Right. Well no doubt I'll meet him in due course." John wasn't a jealous man but the warm fuzzy feeling of knowing Myc was back had receded somewhat. Greg registered his lack of enthusiasm._

_"Sorry. Look, why don't you come back to the Haven tonight? I wasn't going to go, but you've got me thinking about Gabe and I think I need to talk to him. Mycroft will be there, and Marcus unfortunately, but Myc will be pleased to see you I'm sure." John agreed, but only because he was tied to Greg for the evening as his temporary handler while Mary was on a date and heading off alone, even home to bed, would have the petite blonde giving him hell. _

_When they got to the Haven the only person in evidence was Gabe, stretched out in front of an old Cary Grant movie and munching on a bag of mini doughnuts. Greg dropped a kiss on his upturned face earning him a huge adoring smile that brightened the young man's usual sulky face, and went to make coffee for the three of them. Gabe thrust the half empty packet at John "want one?"_

_"Oh, cheers. All on your own?"_

_"Not now," he sighed happily, watching Greg move around the kitchenette. "I was bored but now I'm not. Em's gone away for a few days so I was stuck with Mycroft and his fuckwit arselicker last night. Torture! They kept trying to get rid of me but I stayed to piss them off until they got fed up and went to bed."_

_"Right. And where are they now?"_

_"Dinner at one of their posh fancy restaurants I think. Said they'd be back by ten. Doughnut?"_

_"No, I'm good thanks. Save some for Greg." John smiled at the weird looking boy who seemed to be accepting him more in recent weeks, making little bits of small talk and not growling at him quite so often. It was sweet to see how excitable he became around the DI, like an overgrown metal-enhanced puppy. Gabe shuffled up the sofa to let his lover sit behind him, wriggling until Greg shifted position enough to wrap his arms around his waist and pull him back against his chest. He insisted on feeding Greg the last two sticky doughnuts giggling when he sucked the sugar off his fingers. "I hesitate to use the word in connection with Scotland Yard's finest, but you two are adorable. Puke-making, but definitely adorable."_

_"Yeah, I know I am, not sure about Greg," laughed the skinny boy, yelping when Greg slipped a hand up his t-shirt and tickled his ribs mercilessly. He didn't stop until Gabe was a giggling squealing wreck sprawled across his lap, begging breathlessly for mercy. _

_"Do you fancy going to see a band tomorrow night?" The DI was smiling but John could see he was braced for rejection and he hoped he'd read Gabe correctly before he'd put the idea in Greg's head._

_"With you?" Gabe went still, biting his lip nervously. "Like going out together?"_

_"Yeah, you don't have to, just a dumb idea."_

_"Yes I want to please."_

_Greg chuckled, and John sighed with relief and winked at him. "I don't think anyone's ever said 'please' to me before for a date. Is it ok to call it a date?" Gabe threw his arms around his neck and planted a smacking wet kiss on the older man's lips. "Mm I'll take that as a yes then."_

_There were voices approaching along the corridor, both male, one distinctly Mycroft but sounding slightly off to John's ears. He realised why when the two men staggered into the room both flushed and apparently a bit worse for alcohol. Mycroft's tie hung loosely around his neck and his waistcoat was unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of his pale grey shirt. The man behind him was similarly dishevelled, tall and slim with red wavy hair, a few shades lighter than Mycroft's, and a close cropped beard. He walked with one hand casually around his companion, hand resting proprietorially on his waist, and his mouth close to the other man's ear as he whispered some joke which had Mycroft guffawing._

_John stood up, tugging his shirt straight and waiting for Mycroft to notice him, which he did at the same moment Marcus's lips brushed against his cheek. It __**could**__ have been an accident; John very much wanted to believe it was, but it made Myc jump guiltily and stumble into the kitchen counter. "Oops," Marcus giggled, "bit pissed."_

_Mycroft arranged his face into a broad grin stepping unsteadily towards John and throwing his arms around the small man's neck. "John, you should have __**called**__."_

_"Yes, you really should. We wouldn't have rushed back." Marcus said silkily, falling against the doorframe and crossing his arms and ankles. John peered around Mycroft's shoulder at the cocky man taking an instant dislike to him._

_"I heard you got back last night?" John gripped Mycroft's forearms and disentangled the smirking man from his neck, going on tiptoes to plant a perfunctory kiss on his boyfriend's cheek. "I thought I'd come and surprise you."_

_"__**Lovely**__ surprise," came the sarcastic voice from the door._

_John was aware of Greg and Gabe getting up behind him and moving towards the sour faced man. Gabe loomed over him, stepping into his personal space, but Marcus simply leered up at the boy pursing his lips and making mock kissing noises. "You want some of this darling? Gregory's a bit past it these days. I can make you __**scream**__."_

_"Fuck off Marcus and leave him alone." Greg pulled Gabe past him and out to the corridor. "Always a fucking __**joy**__ to have you home. Don't feel obliged to stay."_

_"Yes well, I think I'll head off. I don't want to interrupt your evening Myc, so I'll call you tomorrow." John stalked towards the door intending to leave before things got ugly but Marcus had to have the last word._

_"Run along little cub, let the big wolves play."_

_His last 'word' was "urgh!" when John's fist connected with his stomach._


	22. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21_

_Marcus doubled up in pain, unfortunately colliding with the swift upper cut that John chose to follow with another jab to his ribs. The knuckles that caught the red-haired man's jaw snapped his teeth together with an audible clack and his lip split in a spray of blood. John stepped away, satisfied he'd made his point and turned to leave but there was an angry roar behind him and the full furious weight of the taller man crashed into his back bringing them both to the floor. John twisted just in time to prevent Marcus landing fully on top of him, but he was still at a disadvantage, face down as he was. The other man took advantage, slamming surprisingly large fists into John's left kidney area and the back of his neck._

_"Stop it!" Mycroft commanded, drunken hands batting futilely at the pair, trying to gain a hold on one or the other to separate them. John kicked out, aiming to buck the man off his back but his foot connected with Mycroft's shin and he wheeled away screaming in agony. The noise distracted Marcus enough that John could dislodge him, almost rising to one knee before the other man was on him again, hands closing around his neck and squeezing hard. Blood and spittle dripped from the man's mouth onto John's face. He bent closer, snarling at him and John could see his wolf straining to burst free. He had no idea how quickly Marcus could change, but if he did John was a dead man. He did the only thing he could think of, lurching his upper body off the floor and smashing his forehead into the bridge of Marcus's nose. It hurt them both, and John felt dazed, but he reached blindly for his wolf, willing it to race towards him and take him over. Its great sandy head dipped, unwilling to challenge the beast it couldn't see, and John realised he'd left himself defenceless against a mad man who just happened to have teeth and claws._

_There were raised voices and confused shouts all around him, and suddenly the weight on his body was torn away and was flying across the room to crash into a table. He watched through slitted eyes as a tall black figure raised his fist and crouched over the bloodied still form, but there was an angry "No, leave him Gabe " and the room went dark._

_John was only out for seconds and when he came round he was being hauled to his feet by two pairs of strong arms. He looked across the room groggily to see Mycroft helping the arrogant bastard sit up, tenderly checking him over to see the extent of his injuries. John hung his head. Clear where his boyfriend's allegiance lay then. "Come on, let's get John to your room and clean him up." Gabe and Greg were both taller than him so his feet barely stayed on the floor but he didn't think he could walk anyway._

_"No!" Mycroft was standing before them, red faced and angry. "What the __**fuck**__ was that about John?" He demanded. Mycroft rarely swore so he was seriously pissed off._

_John groaned, not in any condition to face another argument. "You know what it's about. Leave me alone and go back to him. It's where you'd rather be apparently."_

_"Right now I need him more..." He bit off what he was going to say but John's piercing blue eyes glared at him through the swelling bruises._

_"Go on then, finish it."_

_"No," Mycroft said softly._

_"Finish it!" John roared kicking out in his vague direction, but suspended between the two men._

_"Right now I need him more than you. I'm sorry." He turned and walked back to the prone man on the floor. "Keep him with you tonight Greg. I want no more trouble."_

_Gabe's room still had the look of a teenage bedroom, band posters on the walls, dirty clothes on the floor and CDs and magazines scattered across every surface. A drum kit was tucked into the corner and a sizeable stereo graced the desk, but most of the room was taken up with the king size bed which was a surprising island of neatness in the chaos. The two men lowered John onto it mindful of the cuts and bruises that made him groan with every movement. "You stay with him, I'll get a first aid kit and some water," Greg said over his shoulder as he left the room. _

_Gabe helped John take off his shoes and lifted his legs onto the mattress, fussing a pillow behind his back. "Can I help you take off your shirt?" John nodded gratefully. His fingers felt sore and swollen from the punches he'd landed, too clumsy to manage the buttons. Gabe was business-like, efficiently popping each one and gently easing the fabric off his shoulders. Bruises were already blooming, shadowy under his ribs and his lower back. "Looks like it hurts. Greg should've let me thump him."_

_"No I shouldn't. He's a bloody psycho; I don't want him going after you. I'm going to have to watch John's back now; I can't take care of you too." Greg angrily shoved a bottle of water into John's hand along with some painkillers. Once he was sure the doctor had swallowed them he plucked some antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit and set about cleaning John's face of blood. He hissed at the sharp sting but wisely kept quiet. "Looks like you're bunking in with us tonight so bang goes any chance I had of romance."_

_"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to involve you."_

_"Yeah well... I've been dragging you out of trouble for years now, first with Sherlock and now his idiot brother. Holmes men are bad for you. Anyway, I need a shower." The bathroom door slammed shut behind him._

_Gabe lay down beside him on his stomach kicking his feet in the air. He rested his cheek on his folded hands, peeking out from his blue and black hair at John. "Greg's angry."_

_"Yeah, I got that impression."_

"_I'm sorry you and the prick broke up." John shrugged. His throat felt tight when he thought about it and he wanted to convince himself it was a misunderstanding that would blow over in the morning, but he knew he was kidding himself. Christ he hadn't faced a break-up in years and it was fucking painful, but having this scrawny kid offering stilted sympathy was actually comforting. He must be concussed! "I can cuddle you if it would help?" he offered earnestly. "No funny business. Just to make you feel better. Greg won't mind."_

_"Ok" he agreed, feeling pathetic but just wanting the solidity of another body at his back. John rolled onto his side yelping at the pain, and Gabe wriggled until he was spooning him, one patterned arm draped lightly over his waist. There was space between them but John could feel the other man's body heat and the gentle huff of his breath on his shoulders. It was nice, relaxing and safe, and before too long he sank into sleep. _

_He hadn't been asleep long when he became aware of murmured voices above his head and his eyes flickered open. His cheek was snuggled into an unfamiliar chest wearing a 'Keep Calm and Raise a Zombie' t-shirt and there was another hard body curled around his back. _

_"Marcus will try to kill him won't he?" Whispered Gabe._

_"We'll just have to make sure he doesn't. About time that shit learned his place and if Mycroft won't do it, I will."_

_"Be careful." There was a moments silence then the boy said into the dark. "Greg... I love you."_

_"Yeah... I reckon I love you too. Go to sleep love."_


	23. Chapter 22

**A/N: Back to the present again...**

Chapter 22

John followed Sherlock into Westminster station wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into this time. There was danger, and there was _danger_ and a bomb concealed in a hidden Tube carriage seemed a huge heap of it. Far too much to be running headlong towards it with no backup anyway, but Sherlock had that crazy gleam in his eye that said this was what he _lived_ for, and a slight sheen of sweat on his brow that caused the doctor other concerns. John just hoped that today wasn't the day they both died instead. He tried his phone again but it still read "NO SERVICE" so he shoved it back in his pocket and wondered if today might be a good day to take up praying.

They journeyed along narrow tunnels and down steep metal ladders, their torches making pale yellow pools on the floors and casting monstrous shadows until finally they reached the platform of Sumatra Road station but there was no sign of a carriage. "I don't understand."

"Well, that's a first!"

"There's nowhere else it could be."

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut retreating to his mind palace leaving John to pace up and down the platform in agitation. He checked his phone yet again without hope and then just stood silently watching the other man process data; his eyelids flicking like REM sleep had taken over. While he waited the doctor mentally catalogued any possible signs of illness in the detective – definitely sweating slightly, although that could be a sign of their haste to get here, and his cheeks were flushed, but that may be from excitement. John had been unconscious for the first few weeks after he'd been bitten, so he had no recollection of how the physiological changes had begun. He should ask Mycroft, but that meant admitting he may have been responsible for turning his baby brother, and no matter how pissed off John was with Mycroft for the deception of Sherlock's death, it would pale into insignificance at the level of fury Mycroft would have with him if his brother turned wolf.

"Oh!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed leaping into life and he was off running to the end of the platform, jumping from the end onto the live tracks. "This way."

"You sure?"

"Sure."

They rounded a bend and there it was, just an ordinary looking carriage left abandoned in a tunnel. It looked innocent enough, apart from having no right to be parked where it was, but when they approached Sherlock shone his torch into the ventilation shaft and sucked in a breath. John followed the yellow light and identified several demolition charges leading up into the darkness. Cautiously they checked the outside, shining the torches underneath and along the sides, checking for any sign of explosives attached to the carriage itself, but it looked to be clear. Sherlock opened the door to the cab. "Stop!" yelled John and Sherlock leapt backwards bracing himself for an explosion but there was only silence.

"Don't _do_ that! What's the matter?"

"We might die down here."

"Yes. Cheery thought, thanks for that. Shall we get on with it then?"

"I… um… Will you kiss me?"

"What? _Now?"_ Sherlock shone his torch up under his chin turning his face into a grotesque shadowy mask that also managed to look incredulous. "You are aware there's a _bomb, _John?"

"Yes Sherlock, I am aware, that's sort of the point! If I die… well I don't want to die without kissing you again. And stop rolling your eyes. I might not be able to see it, but I _know_ you."

"_Fine!_" Sherlock huffed, "But if half of London dies because you have a desperate need to feel my lips on yours, then I hold you wholly responsible."

"Agreed." Sherlock stepped towards him clicking off his torch, and pushing it into his pocket so he wouldn't lose it. John did the same, plunging them into complete darkness. It was eerily still in the tunnel, and so quiet they could hear each other breathing and every rustle of clothing as they embraced. Sherlock's arms circled John's waist and John ran his hands up the detective's arms bringing his small hands to rest at the base of his neck. He buried his fingertips in the curls there, massaging the nape of his neck as he waited for the tall man to decide what to do next. Sherlock's response was to feel his way up John's body, fingertips lightly brushing over his clothing until he reached his face. He cupped his chin, tilting it upwards and bowed his head to tenderly touch his lips to the shorter man's. They were cool and moist from where he'd licked them nervously before they descended. John remained still, letting Sherlock decide how much of himself he was prepared to give, and was rewarded with a firmer brush of lips over his own and a fleeting flick of tongue along the lower edge of his mouth. John dropped his hands to Sherlock's waist and sighed. They had no idea how much time they might have left on the planet and his friend – his impulsive, erratic, energetic friend – was taking his time to be loving and tender and John thought his heart might stop at any second. "Sherlock…" he whispered, and then Sherlock's lips settled over his, moving possessively, owning him and his confused heart. The end of the kiss was a loss. John kept his eyes closed for a moment until he heard the click of Sherlock's torch and reluctantly came back to reality.

"We should…"

"Yes." John followed him into the car, working their way down the carriage examining seats and corners, looking up and down. At first John thought there was nothing there but then Sherlock lifted a cushion.

"This is the bomb."

"What?"

"It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment _is_ the bomb."


	24. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23_

_London had been sweltering in rare thirty degree July heat, the whole city smelling of melting tarmac, rotting rubbish and rancid drains, or at least that's how it felt to John as he made his way to the safe house in Pimlico. It was cooler now that dusk was falling, but his shirt still clung uncomfortably to his sweat-damp back. He was desperate for a run but hadn't been back to the Haven in the three weeks since his split from Mycroft because Marcus was still there, and was being an arse by all accounts, but Mary had called him and said there was to be a Pack run and John was expected to attend even though he wasn't full Pack._

_He shouldered his way through the door to find he was last to arrive. He could hear Mycroft and Marcus arguing in the back room, voices raised enough to be recognisable, but not for their words to be heard. Daniel had his nose in a book as usual and Mary was watching Gabe kick Greg's ass at some Xbox game that involved guns. Anthea still had her damn Blackberry in her hand but he gaped at her appearance. Instead of the usual business skirt suit or tailored dress she was wearing white denim shorts and a hot pink vest top over an electric blue push up bra that peeked above the low neck line. One white sandal dangled from her toes, the other already discarded on the floor, and her hair was scraped back in a high pony-tail, rectangular spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She looked like a university student, not the super-efficient PA, or whatever the hell she normally did for Myc. "Do you like it?" she asked without even looking up._

_"There probably isn't a right answer to that question," he chuckled, feeling more his old self. Flirting he could do, even with the aloof woman with the tech in her hand. She grinned at him then, flicking her pony-tail over her shoulder and looking coquettishly through the specs._

_"How about now?" she giggled. It was a strange noise coming from her. Although she always seemed permanently amused around him, like she knew a secret he didn't, he'd never actually heard her laugh, and the giggle was just… bizarre!_

_"Now you're just scaring me, stop it. Go back to playing Candy Crush or updating your Facebook." He winked and left her to it, plonking himself down next to Gabe who waved his Xbox controller in greeting. "What are you playing?"_

_"TF2. I'm Heavy, Greg's Pyro, but he's crap at it."_

_"Right," said John, none the wiser. Greg looked over at him and laughed at his confused expression._

_"I have no idea what I'm doing, he just keeps yelling at me and I keep running into walls. You should try."_

_"No thanks, I had enough of the real thing. Anyway, now I have coffee to hold." He smiled at Emma who had brought him a mug and sat on the floor leaning against his legs. She'd been around a lot recently – turning up at the flat unexpectedly, or calling him just to see how he was doing – but she hadn't blatantly offered herself again. He was pretty sure if he showed any interest at all she'd be quick to fall into bed with him. It was tempting, but the bigger part of him knew it would be just to piss Mycroft off, not for any real feelings he had for the girl, but it didn't stop him running his fingers through her hair letting it fall across his thigh when the door opened and the two red-haired men marched in. Mycroft's lips pressed into a thin lipped smile that didn't reach his ice blue eyes, and John thought he detected a flicker of hurt, but John purposely looked away first to meet Marcus's malevolent glare. He hadn't forgotten his friends' whispered conversation from the night they fought so he knew he needed to be on his guard._

_"There have been two attacks by a rogue wolf in the last month. In both cases we disposed of the bodies before the authorities noticed but we need to track the wolf down and either move him on, or get rid. The attacks happened in the vicinity of Richmond Park, and there have been reports of a large dog worrying the deer, so I'm guessing that's our culprit. Three teams of three - myself, Marcus and Daniel, Mary you take Anthea and Emma, Greg, Gabriel and John are with you. Perimeter search, then inward sweep. Any questions? No? Be there in two hours."_

_The three men and Anthea left together and Mary followed soon afterwards saying she had something to do before making her way to the park. Greg and Gabe had settled into their usual position on the sofa, the gangly boy somehow contained in an untidy sprawl across the older man's lap and their lips locked. Gabe had lost his t-shirt somewhere and Greg traced his fingers over his lean torso, unconsciously following the trail of tattoos that he had obviously come to know well. He paused at the silver ring through his nipple, tweaking it gently making Gabe squirm and giggle._

_"Hot isn't it?" Emma whispered close to his ear making him jump guiltily. "Probably shouldn't think my brother and another man together is a turn on, but they're such a sexy contrast. And Greg can make the most obscene noises. It would be rude not to show some appreciation don't you think? Maybe join in...?"_

_"Are you suggesting I...? Sorry, what are you...? Um..."_

_"You're funny when you're flustered. Haven't you ever been with more than one person at once? They're up for it. We're heading out to hunt soon and your head is someplace else. You need a distraction so you can concentrate properly - orgasm should do the trick."_

_He was about to ask 'what?' again but Emma's shirt was already on the floor and she was pushing her shorts and underwear down her thighs, leaving them in an untidy pile. She held out her hand to lead him to the sofa where Greg already had Gabe's jeans unfastened, his hand working over the young man's crotch. "Emma, I'm not sure..."_

_"Relax, I'm joking. A foursome involving my brother is too weird even for me, but it might be an idea to go distract yourself. If you want some help I'll be in the shower," she winked and sauntered off to the bathroom. Christ what a choice - a quick shag in the shower or stay and watch his best mate do his boyfriend? There were limits to friendship, and for him that was one, but equally giving Emma any kind of encouragement seemed a bad idea. He groaned. If he set off now he could walk a ways and get a cab when he'd marched off some of his tension._

_"See you at the park," he called to no one in particular._

_The sandy wolf lay under cover waiting for his Pack mates to join him. He'd already cast out through the Pack bond seeking their minds and had easily identified Myc and Daniel to the North and Mary and Emma to the East. The unfamiliar female with them must be Anthea. In the eight months he'd been with them he'd never encountered her in wolf form but she was the only one he could communicate with mentally in human form. It was intermittent and unreliable, never quite working when he needed it to, only when she wanted it to. Greg could talk to him, but he struggled to send messages back, and it was a trick he'd never mastered with Myc. Perhaps it would have saved a whole lot of heartache if he had._

_Somewhere close to Mycroft another angry presence flared into life as Marcus changed. He was another whose wolf form was unfamiliar but Gabe had told him he was a surprising smoky grey in colour, nothing like the red of his hair. John had joked that perhaps he dyed his hair but the young man had informed him in all seriousness that fur and hair colour were not always related and John didn't care to tease him. Noisy footsteps had him huddling further under the bush but scent told him it was the final two and they both joined him a few minutes later, creeping under the dense rhododendrons so they could greet one another._

_Although Mycroft had given them a time to be at the park, in wolf form it meant nothing so they waited for the Alpha's signal to begin their perimeter sweep. When it came the three split, following the line of the fence but each one hundred yards further in than the wolf beside him. It was likely the other wolf entered in human form and changed once inside the park so they spread out to cover more ground. The tantalising sounds of small animals and the mouth-watering aroma of the deer that floated in the wind were a distraction but John was more in control of his wolf and kept his nose to the ground seeking one scent in particular._

_The scent, when he detected it, came on the breeze, not on the ground, and was there… then gone. He stopped and tested the air, ears pricked for any sound out of place. Gabe and Greg had already moved on showing no sign of having noticed anything so perhaps he imagined it. He trotted after them but stopped when he heard a soft whine far to his left. It was probably a dog, but he should investigate. He mentally checked everyone's position, reaching the girls, Gabe and Greg easily enough but Mycroft and Daniel were hazy, right on the limit of their range and Marcus had disappeared altogether, presumably ranging further afield._

_The whine came again, the barest noise on the breeze. Cautiously he stepped towards it, every footfall precisely placed so as not to disturb a twig or rustle a leaf that would alert the other wolf to his approach. It was definitely wolf and not dog; the scent was earthier and of the wild, without the chemical taint of domesticity - floor polish, shampoo and canned food. It smelled vaguely familiar but he didn't recognise him._

_He got a few feet past the tree line when a huge weight landed on his back. The blue-grey wolf knocked his paws from under him, driving him to the ground and clamping onto his muzzle with merciless teeth. He squealed and tried to roll but the shaggy mass of fur held him still, biting down until blood ran freely over his jaws. The larger wolf could snap his jaw bone like this if he so chose but he didn't seem in any hurry to finish him off. Frantically John scrabbled his claws in the damp earth trying to dislodge the growling beast but it was useless. Panicking he cast out to the rest of the Pack trying to broadcast what was happening and a moment later Marcus flashed into existence behind him. His relief was short lived as the smoky grey wolf approached them snarling, but not at his aggressor. Marcus bared his teeth, nostrils flaring and fur bristling as he prepared to fight. His captor eased up allowing John to get his forepaws beneath him but he realised his error a fraction too late as Marcus darted in and grabbed his throat. Teeth ripped and blood spurted as he was shaken like a rag doll until he started to lose consciousness._

_"Go!" He heard in his head, and suddenly the weight on his back was gone, streaking away into the night, but Marcus didn't release his throat. John fell to his side, disorientated from the pain and blood loss, leaving his belly exposed. The last thing he felt was a searing heat across his stomach._


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N: Very short one that I should have tagged on to the last chapter but it was getting long - plus I kinda left at a point that made several of you go 'Nooo!' because I am evil :-D This chapter brings the two earlier timelines in synch, so from hereon there are only two to get your head around.**

_Chapter 24_

_Gabe cradled the injured man against his bare chest, white faced and sobbing at the sheer amount of blood that soaked into the earth around them. John was dying for sure and he didn't know how to save him. **Greg, please… come quickly. Please help. John's hurt.** There was a clamour of voices in his head, all demanding to know what was going on and where he was, but Gabe was confused and frightened and all he wanted was Greg to be there to help him. He pressed his palm to the wound on John's neck hoping it was the one that mattered, the one that would stop him bleeding out, because if he died Greg would be sad and he'd be mad with him for letting him die. **Greg please help.**_

_There was crashing and shouting, broken branches and crying, and then there were strong arms holding him and the body that had been held tightly against him was spirited away. "It's ok love, everything is going to be ok baby, I promise. He's going to be ok, you did so well." Greg was there, and it was going to be alright. Greg would make it fine and John would be ok. He let himself be rocked in his lover's arms and sobbed until his throat was raw._

_John woke in the cursed hospital room at the Haven again but this time there was pain – **excruciating pain** – and a stranger looking down on him dressed in a white coat and holding a manila file full of notes. He looked to his other side and wasn't surprised to see a familiar figure sitting there, nose buried in a newspaper but completely ignoring the patient in the bed. John turned back to the white coat. "How bad?"_

_"You were lucky. Roughly four pints of blood lost, twenty internal stitches to the wound in your neck plus thirty external, and about fifty to the abdominal wound. If you were human you'd be dead. Luckily for you you're not. Internal stitches will dissolve; externals will need to be removed day after tomorrow. No changing until then. Mr Holmes…?" Mycroft looked up from his paper at the medic. "Please ensure the patient has rest, plenty of water to drink and a high-protein diet."_

_"Of course. Thank you doctor." The pair watched the doctor leave in silence and even after the door swung shut and the latch engaged they were quiet for a good five minutes. "So…?"_

_"So what the fuck are you doing here Mycroft? Come to apologise for your attack dog getting the wrong wolf?" John was in too much pain to be civil and too emotionally hurt to care if his words stung. Mycroft frowned at him in confusion._

_"Your attacker got away, but he will be located."_

_"You made a similar promise eight months ago, yet I'm still waiting. Marcus should be easier to find."_

_"Marcus? He's down the hall. He found you and…"_

_"He tried to kill me Mycroft. He was the one who did this to me."_

_"No, you're mistaken. You're confused from the anaesthetic and blood loss." John stared into his eyes and saw the truth – Mycroft knew, **he fucking knew** – that John was telling the truth, but he wasn't going to do anything about it. Whatever his need for the psycho, it was far more powerful than any feelings he'd held for John. It was like a punch to the gut on top of the gash in his stomach, the pain was so overwhelming._

_"Leave," he muttered. "Leave, and don't fucking come to see me in here again. If Marcus is still around when I get out of here he had better watch his back."_

_"John, you're not a vindictive man…" Mycroft tried smoothly._

_"Try me if you dare Myc." He turned onto his side, wincing at the tug of the morphine drip and closing his eyes until his former lover left the room._


	26. Chapter 25

**A/N: Present chapters will be short while I bring past into line - might build a bit of suspense if I'm lucky even though you all know the outcome of the bomb :-) Hopefully there will be hints in the present about the past that might make you go "huh?" starting with this chapter. Enjoy!**

Chapter 25

John's heart was pounding in his chest as he flipped the seat cushions up, one after the other to expose the tightly packed explosives. He'd had his fill of such things way back at the swimming pool with Moriarty; why did people always want to blow him up? Sherlock moved along the aisle tapping his foot against a particular spot where a floor panel seemed to be loose. When the detective lifted it John grabbed for a pole sucking in deep nervous breaths. The device was massive and apparently the catalyst to trigger the rest. If it went off half of central London would be obliterated.

"So what do we do?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, think of something."

"Why d'you think _I_ know what to do?"

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets."

"Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?"

"I wasn't _in_ bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor."

"And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all."

Fat lot of good that would do them, his training didn't begin to cover anything like this. This was so unfair. Just when he discovered Sherlock was alive and reciprocated his feelings, they both get mixed up in this and would be dead before it could count. It was all Mycroft's fault. If he hadn't been so selfless… If he'd just taken Moran out when he learned of his involvement they wouldn't even _be_ here. There would be no bomb, no plot. He and Sherlock would be safe above ground getting on with their wonderful lives together... But that wasn't the case, was it? If it hadn't been for this terrorist plot Sherlock would still be dead and he would have proposed. Mycroft would have accepted, he knew he would. They would have worked through the events of the last few months and John would have forgiven him. He already had – how could he not when Mycroft had done so much for him? He thought imminent death was meant to clear the mind and crystallize one's thoughts. It didn't. He was as confused as ever, but the first man to capture his heart was here with him and would likely be the one to die by his side, and if today was the day for it then he couldn't ask for much more.

The lights came on in the carriage and the countdown started. John could feel panic threatening to overwhelm him, every breath coming faster. Christ, he had less than two and a half minutes to make Sherlock understand.

"Go, John. Go now."

"There's no point now, is there, because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this other people will die!"

He didn't care about other people, not at that moment. He'd spent his life caring for other people and had never told the only one that mattered how important he was to him and now he had less than two minutes to do so. He would die holding him at the very least but there was no need to give up just yet. This was Sherlock, the man who stored more facts in that great brain of his than the British Library.

"Mind Palace."

"Hm?"

"Use your Mind Palace."

Sherlock wasn't convinced but he gave it a try, fingers pressed to the sides of his head and eyes screwed shut, seeking the elusive bit of information that would save them. "Think!" John pleaded. All he could do was watch and pray that somewhere in that vast repository there was something that would give them a future. Sherlock groaned, hands flicking restlessly until he let out a cry and opened his eyes but there was nothing… "Oh my God."

Sherlock dropped to his knees over the bomb scrabbling around the sides, poking gingerly at flashing lights and wires, muttering tensely. John turned to him and Sherlock raised his head. "I'm sorry," he said tearfully. "I can't ... I can't do it, John. I don't know how. Forgive me?"


	27. Chapter 26

**_A/N: A nice long bit of drama :-) _**

_Chapter 26_

_John lay stretched out on one of the leather sofas at the Haven, his head in Emma's lap and his eyes closed as she ran her fingers through his hair. It was getting far too long but his injuries had prevented him leaving the Haven for the last four weeks even for a haircut but the most frustrating thing was not being fit enough to run which meant he spent a lot of time alone pacing the halls or slouched in front of the TV. The rest of the Pack was gathering in the lounge preparing to head out to look for the rogue wolf again but he was side-lined and it was driving him stir-crazy. The rooftop garden was too hot to spend much time in during the day as the heatwave extended into late August and didn't offer much space for exercise anyway, so consequently he was grouchy and feeling lethargic._

_Surprisingly the one bit of light relief in his enforced inactivity was Gabe. The young man had taken to spending a lot of time just 'hanging out' with John, which seemed to mean just being in the same room as him, sometimes chatting but more often just doing their own thing alongside each other. It was comforting for them both to know that John was healing well, but it didn't stop the boy asking him every hour if he could fetch him anything, or simply if he was ok. Rather than being irritating though, it was sweet, and it made Greg feel better that they were helping each other through the trauma of the attack. The other couple were curled up on the opposite sofa, Gabe wielding the remote control for the stereo system and 'treating' them to a selection of his favourite tracks while they waited for Mycroft and Marcus to make an appearance._

_The two red-haired men had kept their distance from the Haven much to John's relief, though it upset him to know that Mycroft was having a relationship with the man who had tried to kill him. Myc had called a handful of times and they'd held awkward conversations that didn't really communicate anything, but it was difficult for John to move past Marcus taking his place. Emma was a welcome distraction, though not a long-term prospect for a relationship. It helped that when it came to sex she was more than happy to do all the work, because his abdominal muscles still protested if he tried anything too vigorous. _

_Mycroft entered alone and immediately began issuing instructions left, right and centre, ushering each Pack member out of the room as quickly as he could until they were alone. He lingered by the door until John gave in and looked up. "How are you?" Mycroft asked softly._

"_Fine thanks. I guess Marcus will have to try again, but then I think he got what he wanted, didn't he?" John let the bitterness show, even though it felt childish._

"_It isn't like that John, but I can't explain it right now, I'm sorry."_

"_Yeah well… When true love hits it's like a fucking bolt from the blue I'm told. Nothing can stand in its way. I hope you'll be truly happy, though I suspect you'll end up dead when he decides it's time to be Alpha."_

_He nodded. "Maybe. Perhaps then it will be time I was gone anyway. It's hard to follow a leader who won't explain his decisions, I realise that, but I was hoping we could remain friends. It seems you've already moved on. Emma is...?"_

_John looked at him incredulously. He couldn't seriously expect that, could he? But then it would fit the arrogance of a Holmes. "Emma is none of your business. Go hunt your wolf Myc. I'll give you a clue - he's in your bed - but for some reason you refuse to see him for what he is. You know where the door is."_

_Mycroft's eyes hardened. "Get yourself fit John and stop wallowing. I expect you back out there with us in two weeks." The slamming door rattled the windows._

_The search for the rogue wolf proved fruitless on that occasion, as did the next two jaunts, until John and Mary had happened on him by chance. No one could identify the strange black wolf that gave off a wave of sickness through the Pack bond and Mycroft was growing increasingly irritable. The Pack disposed of two more bodies further afield than Richmond Park, but still unmistakably killed by the same wolf. Eventually however Mycroft's real job claimed his attention for a few days and gave them all a breather from his sour mood. The only time John saw him smile was around Marcus but there always seemed to be tension with the laughter. _

_Emma and Gabe decided to take a long overdue trip back to Dublin to see their family, their first since Emma had turned. Gabe had a lot of bridges to build with his parents and Emma was determined to support him through the process of coming out to them. Greg was working as much as he could, taking advantage of his boyfriend being out of town but that left John to entertain himself. The Haven was deserted and the TV was rubbish so he made a mug of coffee and carried it up to the roof garden, planning to grab some fresh air before bed but when he reached the top of the stairs he was startled to hear the chink of a bottle against glass and the unmistakable glug of liquid being poured. Mycroft was lounging in one of the garden chairs, bottle of Ardbeg in one hand and a generously filled glass in the other. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you were here," John said, turning to go back downstairs._

"_Stay. Please?"_

_John shrugged and sat in the chair opposite. They didn't have to talk, even if the silence wasn't exactly companionable, and he needed to be outside for a while. They sat in quiet, John sipping his coffee and Mycroft taking long swallows of the whisky. He wasn't normally a heavy drinker, but he'd emptied one glass already and was halfway down the second when he spoke again._

"_John… I made a mistake; I just needed you to know that I realise that. Marcus is ambitious and ruthless which are both qualities that I needed to make use of, and he can be very charming and persuasive – it's what makes him very good at his job. I didn't anticipate starting a relationship with him…" He took another gulp, wincing at the burn of the potent liquid. "They say to keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…"_

_John regarded the other man through narrowed eyes. "What are you saying? That he __**made you do it**__? That's a pretty lame defence Myc. You sleeping with him once or twice doesn't really bother me that much – it's not like I can claim to be faithful – it was the fact you just let that twat beat me to a pulp for no good reason and then you dropped me with no explanation and flaunted your relationship."_

"_You threw the first punch, as I recall."_

"_Not a great way to apologise."_

"_I'm not apologising, just trying to explain… Without actually telling you why. I needed to get close to Marcus and 'pillow talk' was a means to learn what I needed to know, but I find that what I __**need**__ is at odds with what I __**want**__…" Mycroft's normally pale eyes were almost navy in the dim light, the pupils wide and sincere. He moved to the edge of his seat and John had to resist the temptation to drop to his knees so he could throw his arms around him._

"_You're talking in riddles Myc; it's no wonder Sherlock always thought you were infuriating," he said irritably. He held out his empty coffee mug and Mycroft sloshed a hefty slug of whisky into it. John downed it in one gulp. "Why can't you just say what you wanted to say simply?"_

"_You just need to know that things will come to a head soon, and when they do… Well, I hope you'll understand why."_

_John snorted and got to his feet, holding out his hand to pull the other man to his feet. "I'm sick of fighting Myc. I'm tired and I just want to go downstairs to bed." Mycroft wobbled slightly as he made it upright, instinctively reaching for the smaller man to keep his balance. His hands fell on John's shoulders and he looked down at him with sad eyes._

"_I miss you, John," he whispered, mouth falling onto John's upturned lips in a wet kiss. "Stay with me?"_

_John shook his head stepping away. "No. You're drunk and not thinking straight. Sort out what you want and then talk to me sober."_

"_Then run with me? Now. Let's go for a run and resolve this thing."_

"_It's after one in the morning!" But Mycroft was already heading down the stairs shedding his clothes as he went. "Oh for god's sake…" John followed and by the time they reached the deserted street they were both naked, Mycroft still wobbling slightly on his feet. "This is madness," John muttered, but he dropped to the ground behind the hedge and completed his change as quickly as he could, trotting after Mycroft's red wolf into the night._

_They reached the park without incident, keeping to the shadowy back streets where possible, and darting across main roads when the traffic lights favoured them. Once or twice a lone driver or pedestrian rubbed at their eyes not sure if they'd actually seen two massive dogs flitting between the tall buildings. The alcohol vanished from Mycroft's system as soon as he changed, so he was sure footed and swift as they flew across the grass. He seemed to have a destination in mind so John tailed him, content to finally be outside properly even though the night was stifling and airless. Soon Mycroft stopped and dropped to the ground. __**Listen!**__ John twitched his ears, seeking whatever Mycroft had heard. Voices, two male, about one hundred yards ahead on the far side of the trees. John sat up and strained to smell the air, trying to pick up a scent and then growled softly when he recognised Marcus as one of them. What was he doing out here at this time? And who was he with?_

_They crawled through the undergrowth as stealthily as possible, carefully placing each paw. Marcus in human form was unlikely to pick up on the subtle sounds of their movement, but Mycroft's intention was to get close enough to see the other party. The two men lay naked on the ground in the shadow of the trees about six feet apart and speaking quietly. John's wolf didn't understand what they were talking about but his ears pricked as he recognised the second voice as Lord Moran. He nudged Mycroft's hindquarters questioningly, and the red wolf looked back at him with a dangerous look in his eyes. __**Stay back!**__ He commanded, and then he burst from their hiding place and raced the short distance towards the two men._

_Moran was on his feet before Mycroft got halfway there, but Marcus changed with such speed it was like a flash of fur and where there was a man there was instantly a wolf. John expected Mycroft to go for the half-changed blue-grey wolf but he leapt over the still prone figure to clash in mid-air with his lover, sending the smoky wolf down under his weight, teeth slashing a hair's breadth from the red wolf's ear. John chased towards the fight, confused at what was happening but instinctively drawn to assist his Alpha. Moran was fully changed, and darted in to nip at the red wolf's hind legs, seeking to distract him enough for the other to throw him off, but Mycroft was intent on inflicting serious damage on his opponent and ignored the weak challenge. John however, barrelled into the Moran forcing the large wolf away from the grappling duo. He snarled and lunged for the blue-grey wolf's muzzle but he reared up catching John in the face with his claws making him squeal and leap backwards and the other jumped on him pressing his advantage, but John rolled fast enough to throw him off._

_Moran came to his feet and looked about to make another assault but suddenly he veered away into the darkness and took flight. John let him go, turning his attention to the other fight. Marcus had Mycroft's wolf pinned and was snapping his jaws at his throat, but the position he had gained was too short. Mycroft scratched ineffectually at the dirt, trying to gain purchase to pull himself to his feet, but the weight of the smoky wolf was too much. Like a bullet John shot towards the huge wolf's neck and closed his teeth on the loose skin, tearing without mercy. Marcus screeched and tried to shake himself free but the sandy wolf held on, falling onto his back and pulling the other with him, all eight paws flailing in the air. Almost before they hit the ground Mycroft turned on the smoky wolf and tore at his throat in a spray of blood that pattered like rain all around them. The wolf went limp, falling heavily on top of John who sagged winded onto the ground. It wasn't a killing blow but if Marcus didn't get medical assistance soon he would bleed out. __**Change!**__ Mycroft commanded and the three wolves receded, leaving the blood spattered naked men collapsed on the grass and breathing heavily. Marcus gurgled wetly with each breath and John's doctoring instincts took over, crawling to the man to tend to his wounds. "Leave him," Mycroft gasped harshly._

"_We have to get an ambulance. He's going to die!"_

_The red haired Alpha knelt over the bleeding man. He raised his hand and brought it down hard on his throat, one hairless paw ripping through the flesh and shredding the jugular vein. "Yes he is." Mycroft said calmly walking away._


	28. Chapter 27

**A/N: very short little one... lol**

Chapter 27

"Please, John, forgive me for all the hurt that I caused you."

Oh god, Sherlock was apologising to him now, this was genuinely the end. There would be no future, no time to say goodbye. He had to make him understand...

"No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick. Another one of your bloody tricks. You're just trying to make me say something nice."

Sherlock chuckled, a stupid sound in the circumstances. "Not this time."

"It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like ..." John's eyes filled with tears and he blinked furiously concentrating on regulating his breathing. Sherlock had moved to sit on a seat, abandoning any attempt to switch off the bomb as futile. They were going to die down here in a fucking Tube carriage and take hundreds, possibly thousands of people with them and there was nothing he could do about it. "I wanted you not to be dead," he bit out savagely.

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for. If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and you'd still have a future with..."

With Mycroft. With the man who loved him but couldn't face him following the deception of Sherlock's death. John's questions would go unanswered and Mycroft would lose him never knowing how much he was loved in return. Maybe John would have figured it out eventually. Maybe, but it didn't matter now. Only these final seconds mattered and he had to make them count.

In two strides he was across the carriage pulling the startled detective to his feet and hugging him tightly. Sherlock's body heat radiated through his clothing, far hotter than it should be, but even that didn't matter now. The curly haired man hesitantly wrapped his arms around the older man and John muttered into his chest, "Look, I find it difficult. I find it difficult, this sort of stuff. You were the best and the wisest man that I have ever known. I should have told you a long time ago. I should have... And then maybe things would have been different." Sherlock looked down at him, his eyes wide and tear-filled. "I love you Sherlock and yes, of course I forgive you" Their eyes met, blue to feverish green, and John brushed his lips tenderly over the other man's then took a deep breath and prepared to die.


	29. Chapter 28

_Chapter 28_

_Greg raced up the stairs to Mary's flat and hammered on the door repeatedly until her footsteps sounded behind the door and the key turned in the lock. The pain of loss an hour ago had almost knocked him off his feet and he'd left a crime scene fighting rising panic, firing off texts from the back of a cab trying to determine who had died. Gabe, Daniel and all the girls had replied quickly, but only Mary had any pertinent information. __**My flat now, John needs you.**__If John needed him then he was alive too, but there was nothing at all from Mycroft or Marcus. _

_Greg pushed past Mary and ran down the hall to John's bedroom, crying out when he saw the pale naked blood-stained man shivering violently on the bed. The smell of vomit was overpowering and John retched over the side of the bed again when Mary entered with a mug of hot sweet tea. "Shock," she explained, "try to get him to drink while I empty the bucket." Greg crawled onto the bed behind the trembling man and pulled him back against his chest._

_"It's ok John, is any if this blood yours?" _

_John shook his head. "Don't think so, maybe a scratch here and there. It's Marcus's. Mycroft killed him."_

_"__**What?**__" Shrieked Mary, dropping the now empty and cleaned bucket. "Where is he? Where's Mycroft? Is he hurt? What __**happened**__?"_

_John groaned at the battery of questions. "I don't know. He took off and I came here. I felt him __**die**__ Greg. I feel his loss as badly as if he was a brother, yet I hated him. I'm glad he's dead but it __**hurts**__."_

_"The wolves feel it John, they mourn when a Pack-brother falls regardless if how we might feel about the man. It's like having a hole ripped into flesh - it takes time to knit together and heal."_

_Mary tossed her mobile on the bed and lay down beside John on his other side. "Mycroft isn't answering; his phone is switched off. I've tried his home and office too, but nothing. It's almost four, we should get some sleep and maybe he'll have been in touch by the time we wake up." Curling up between the other two was comforting and helped John get control if his racing thoughts. He had no idea why Mycroft would kill Marcus. Surely not because he suspected him of sleeping with Moran? It made no sense at all but eventually weariness overtook him and he slipped into a dreamless sleep._

_No one heard from Mycroft for five days - not even a telephone call or text to say he was alive - until a familiar black car pulled alongside John as he was hurrying home from work and Anthea rolled down her window, saying "Get in. I'll take you to him."_

_"Have you known where he was all this time?" He asked. _

_She shrugged. "We needed to do some tidying up and damage limitation. It's what I'm good at." The damage limitation was in response to photographs of Mycroft and Marcus together in a hotel in Nice. The day after they were published Mycroft's office issued a statement confirming their relationship and commiserating with the 'minor civil servant' on the untimely death of his high profile diplomat lover from an unexpected heart attack. Thus Marcus Pinder was tidily disposed of and any brewing scandal fell flat a few days later when there was no other dirt to dig. Anthea was indeed a master of manipulation of information. "Might as well get comfortable," she said, "he's four hours north of London."_

_Mycroft sat at the desk in the opulent hotel suite reviewing data on his laptop that he had obtained from Marcus by fair means and foul. He knew for certain that there was an 'underground network planning an attack on London' but he couldn't figure out the pattern. Moran was involved in some capacity, but everything he had on him showed him to be squeaky clean. Of course Marcus had been responsible for gathering that data too, so it in itself was suspect. The secrets Moran had been passing to the British Government for years provided so many possibilities it was overwhelming. He needed something to make the mixture gel - to align the puzzle pieces and reveal the picture. There was only one man Mycroft trusted to do that and he warred with himself over the wisdom of bringing Sherlock home._

_The main reason for his reluctance tapped tentatively at the door. Mycroft swept it open and regarded the pale faced doctor, finally stepping aside to urge him to come in. "You look remarkably composed for a man stricken with grief." John said, stopping just inside the door to sweep his eyes over the tall man from head to toe. His pristine white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, no tie, and the sleeves were rolled up exposing his forearms with their golden dusting of hair and freckles. His grey dress trousers were slightly rumpled from sitting so long in one position, but even slightly dishevelled Mycroft managed to look elegant._

_"I wasn't certain you would come," he admitted leading John to the small dining room. "Dinner was delivered a short while ago... I had no appetite for it until now. Will you join me? It should still be warm." John was starving so readily sat and poured the wine without tasting it. There was no sommelier to give approval to anyway so there was no need for the pretension. The food was light but delicious and they began to relax in each other's company. When they were done they moved to the sofa with a second bottle of red._

_"I can tell you a little more about Marcus and me if you would like to know? About the reason behind the relationship not... What I mean is I can tell you why we got together and why I pushed you out. If you would like to know?"_

_John sighed and wondered if he wanted to know at all, it still made him so angry. His posture stiffened and Mycroft shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Will it make me hate it any less?"_

_"I don't know. Perhaps it will make you hate __**me**__ less." _

_"I don't hate you," John said automatically and was surprised to find it was true. "I don't hate you at all. Sometimes I wish I could and then it wouldn't have been so painful."_

_"Ok. Marcus wasn't my only source of information on the inside although he didn't know it. Daniel was working as Moran's driver and picked up some intelligence that he was working with another man, yet to be identified. Daniel never saw his face or heard his voice but he saw Moran meet with him several times, usually soon after Moran and I met. The timing wasn't coincidence. Daniel overheard a telephone conversation that misidentified Marcus as my lover and therefore as a target to get to me. I already suspected Marcus of selling information the other way but couldn't prove anything. He was also becoming harder to handle within the Pack, so I made a decision... Possibly a stupid one in hindsight, but I decided to kill two birds with one stone and protect you in the process."_

_"Protect me from what?"_

_"Harm? Death? I wasn't sure how far they were prepared to go to and I wasn't prepared to gamble with your life."_

_"Shouldn't that have been my decision? If you'd told me...?"_

"_I couldn't. There were deals and secrets that needed to be protected. I hated what I did and I appreciate you can't forgive me. Instead of getting easier though it just got harder to walk away each day."_

_John was quiet. He gently took Mycroft's glass from him and placed it on the coffee table, moving closer to the other man who watched him warily. John cupped Mycroft's jaw and ran his thumb along his lower lip meeting his pale blue eyes. "I thought Dan drove a cab," he chuckled before leaning in for a soft kiss._

_Mycroft groaned and grabbed the back of John's head, deepening the kiss and licking his way into John's mouth like a man half starved. They exchanged sloppy kisses, tongues tangling aggressively and teeth nipping at lips until they were both breathless. "Where's the bedroom?" John asked, but neither man was inclined to stop kissing long enough to move. John thrust his hand inside Mycroft's trousers, groping his beautifully hard cock and thumbing the tip spreading the wetness all over the head._

"_Oh god John, you're going to make me come," he groaned, thrusting into his tight fist. "Get your pants off now, I need you." John stood and tore off his jeans and pants, then pulled his shirt off over his head for good measure to stand naked in front of his ex-lover. Mycroft's eyes drank him in, lingering on his thick length that bobbed level with his mouth. "May I?"_

"_Fuck yes!" Mycroft closed his lips around the head of John's cock, sucking sweetly on the tip until it began to leak on his tongue. Only then did he sink further down his shaft, moving over the thick hard muscle and tonguing at the underside until John's hips began to jerk in tiny sharp movements. John shoved his fingers through Mycroft's lush red hair and pushed further into his mouth until the taller man indicated with a wanton groan that he had as much cock in his throat as he could take. "God your mouth is sensational," John groaned. Mycroft's thin hands gripped his arse as he swallowed and rubbed his tongue over the glorious mass in his mouth, until with a shout of "Fuck Mycroft!" the hot wet rush of John's orgasm flooded his mouth. _

_John's softening cock flopped from Mycroft's mouth and immediately he was climbing on to the other man's lap, shoving his trousers open enough that his cock sprang free. He spat in his hand, slicking saliva and precome down Mycroft's long prick from tip to the nest of bronze curls at its base and then he was lowering himself slowly onto it. He felt so full he didn't know if he could bear to move for fear of the pain outweighing the pleasure, but when Mycroft nudged up into him he let out a groan of desire. "Again," he gasped and the red-haired man obliged, again and again until John was hard and begging again. John fisted his own cock, riding Mycroft's thrusts until suddenly he swore as the head of the cock in his arse met his prostate. "Oh god Myc, I've missed you. Come for me."_

"_Fuck!" Mycroft screamed, thrusting up hard and spilling into John. John tugged himself over the edge and came too, leaking over his hand and Mycroft's smart white shirt. _

"_So good," John panted, wincing as Mycroft withdrew and a rush of cum slipped from his hole. "But your trousers are ruined," he laughed. Mycroft didn't care. He let the shorter man pull him to his feet and directed him to the bedroom where they cleaned up and fell under the covers curling together peacefully to fall asleep in each other's arms._

_Mycroft woke early and crept from the bed to shower and dress. His rest had given him no further insight to Moran's involvement in the plot and the loss of Marcus as an agent was a problem. The only solution was to bring Sherlock home as he planned, but that would mean stepping aside for his younger brother to reconcile with the love of his life. He closed his eyes against the pang of hurt that thought brought with it. He always made sacrifices for Sherlock and probably always would, even if it meant putting his own feelings aside. Caring was never an advantage. He kissed John goodbye and left the suite, bound for the airport. __**Time for your resurrection little brother, and it's killing me inside.**_


	30. Chapter 29

**A/N: Well, OMG I *think* this is the last chapter apart from the epilogue which I will hopefully post tomorrow. If there are any loose ends I hope to tie them up then. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story - particularly those who have favourited/subscribed and those who have reviewed. I know it frequently fell ooc and it expanded beyond the initial short fic I was planning, but I hope in the end it didn't disappoint anyone. I loved writing it, and I loved the idea it sprang from, but I'm not sure there will be any other Werelock stories from me... except perhaps Greg and Gabe's story if I ever get around to writing it down. If I miss any loose ends in the Epilogue that you need answers to, PM me :-D**

Chapter 29

It was the longest minute and a half of his life. Sherlock's sobs were the only sound in the carriage as they waited for death, but even John realised it was a bloody long time coming. He opened his eyes to realise the idiot man was crouched in the corner giggling. Unable to believe his eyes John looked at the countdown repeatedly flicking back and forth between 1:28 and 1:29.

"Oh, your face! I totally had you."

"You cock! I knew it! I knew it! You f..." He broke off when Sherlock gave a cough and winced, crossing an arm protectively across his stomach. A thin trickle of red appeared at his left nostril, and instantly John was on his knees in front of him. "Sherlock? Are you ok? Christ you're burning up. I have to get you out of here and call Mycroft. Come on, up you come." He helped the detective to his feet and only then remembered the bomb. "You knew how to turn it off!"

"There's always an off switch. Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an off switch." He said weakly.

"So why did you let me go through all that? Never mind." He stared at the flickering torches approaching along the tunnel. "And you did call the police."

"'Course I called the police."

"I'm definitely gonna kill you if the fucking wolf doesn't beat me to it." John muttered.

"What?" Sherlock stared at him but his eyes were unfocused as though John was wavering in front of him. John helped him down from the cab and they made their way slowly and unsteadily back around the bend to Sumatra Road where more armed police waited. Sherlock stumbled, pitching towards the electrified rail but John grabbed him before any part of his body could connect with it.

"I need to get him out," he cried. "Is there a more direct route to the surface?" With John on one side and a willing police officer on the other they traversed a slightly simpler route back to Westminster station. All the passengers had been evacuated and the trains stopped so it was strangely silent apart from the crackle of police radios. They settled Sherlock on the steps and another officer handed him a bottle of water.

"What's wrong with him?" He asked.

"Um... Flu I think, some sort of infection. I need to get him into the fresh air."

"I'm fine John," the detective said stubbornly and to prove it he ran up the stairs towards the street, John dashing after him and almost tripping on his lanky legs when Sherlock sprawled on the steps several feet from the top.

"Fuck," John cursed under his breath, assisting his friend to stand once more. He led him to a shop doorway and let him slide into an untidy heap on the ground while he searched his pockets for his phone, but it was missing, presumably lost somewhere in the Underground "Fuck!" He yelled, "Give me your phone Sherlock, I need to call Mycroft."

"Why?" He queried, frowning but pulling out the device and handing it over. John dialled quickly and clapped the phone to his ear, his other hand searching for the radial pulse in Sherlock's wrist. It was irregular but strong and far too fast. His temperature was elevated too.

The phone connected. "Sherlock?"

"Myc it's me, don't hang up please. I'm with Sherlock on the street outside Westminster Tube station. Send a car now! Myc… I think he's turning, please hurry."

"_What?_ I'll send Lestrade. What happened? Is he conscious?"

"No time to explain, just get Greg here quickly." He disconnected and shoved the phone back into the detective's pocket.

"I should have seen it. It was obvious now when I think about it - all those vague updates from him over the last two years and your reluctance to tell me who your lover was." Sherlock said softly.

"Hush, you're rambling love, just rest."

"I am perfectly lucid thank you John, although my body seems to be letting me down right now. I'm disappointed, although my brother does have a certain aesthetic appeal and the power can be seductive I suppose. Still, I never expected you would be taken in by that self-important arrogant idiot."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said tightly. If he and Sherlock were going to have this conversation _at all_ it wasn't now, on the street, when John was trying desperately to keep him from feeling any strong emotion that might speed the change.

"You and Mycroft - or is it _Myc_? No one calls him that, so it has to be significant. He did something that hurt you... I'll have to have words with him about that... But you think you've forgiven him. You haven't by the way. The relationship is over…"

"No it isn't!"

"But you're in denial... Sorry!" He gasped and doubled up in pain, groaning loudly.

"Fuck you, Sherlock; you don't get an opinion on this."

"Really? I would think the way you've been kissing me over the last couple of days says I do."

"Give it a couple of weeks and you'll feel differently. Now shut up and relax until Greg gets here."

Sherlock fell silent, his eyes drifting shut, moaning quietly. "This isn't flu is it? I feel like my body is going to fly apart and I want to scratch my skin off to see what's underneath. A peculiar and wholly unpleasant sensation. You should catalogue my symptoms for future reference..."

"No need, I'm familiar with them."

"Hm. Yes, I expect so."

A black unmarked police car with blue flashing lights was allowed through the cordon down the street and pulled to a halt beside them. Greg leapt out and crouched beside the pair, pulling Sherlock's eyelids up to check the state of his eyes. Sherlock allowed it without protest, his hands falling limply into his lap.

"How long since he was attacked?" Greg asked urgently.

"I didn't... It was an accident. Kissing got a little rough and I nipped too hard. I hoped it wouldn't matter..." John's cheeks were crimson beneath his concern for his friend.

"Christ, I'm sorry... Sometimes it doesn't take much. I should have warned you. We need to get him to the Haven." They bundled him into the back seat, John sliding in after him. Sherlock was feverish and slipping in and out of consciousness so once past the cordon Greg floored the accelerator and raced to the riverside building where Mycroft waited anxiously.

Once they handed Sherlock over to the nursing staff Mycroft grabbed John and shoved him against the wall screaming in his face "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Could you have stopped it?"

"No, but... I could have prepared him! I kept him away from this life for more than twenty years, then you get involved and..."

"Enough!" Bellowed Greg. "John, go to the lounge. Mycroft, see to your brother."

John marched to the lounge swearing at Mycroft under his breath. He filled the kettle, clashing it on its stand and then smashed a mug down onto the counter so hard it broke in two.

"Here, let me" Gabe said behind him gently taking the broken pieces from him and disposing of them in the bin. He collected two more mugs and made tea for them both while John seethed by the counter, trembling with anger at Mycroft's reaction. Gabe stopped in front of him and wrapped his arms around the surprised shorter man, resting his chin on the crown of his head. He hugged him for a long minute and released him, grinning shyly. "I thought you could do with a hug. I heard Mycroft yelling at you and that's always horrible. Is it his brother, the detective?" John nodded, not trusting himself to speak without bursting into embarrassing sobs. "I overheard a bit. Turning someone you love always hurts more than a stranger. When I hurt Emma... It took a long time to feel ok about it. If you need to talk... Well I know what it's like better than the others." John smiled gratefully and squeezed the young man tightly.

"Greg's a lucky man to have you Gabe. You're a kind soul. Thank you."

The man in question entered the room and raised an amused eyebrow at his small friend hugging his tall boyfriend. "Anything I should worry about?" he joked.

"Nope, just telling Gabe how lucky you are to have him."

"I'm the lucky one." Greg wrapped his arms around both men dropping a small kiss on the nape of Gabe's neck. "Sherlock is sedated," he said seriously. "We've stabilized him for now, but the change is inevitable, I'm sorry."

John hung his head. "It was a stupid kiss that was all. If I'd known I would never have… I would have been more careful," he amended. "I'm going to go and sit with him."

Anthea was hovering outside the hospital room like a guard dog, and she frowned when John approached. "Mycroft is inside with his brother. I will _only_ let you in if you promise not to brawl over him. Sherlock needs rest, not bickering over something that can't be undone."

"Did you give Myc the same lecture?"

"Of course," she smirked. "He may be Alpha but he's not too big for a piece of my mind when he's being an arse."

"An _arse_?" John was still chuckling as Anthea let him into the room and locked the door behind him.

Instantly he smelled wolf, and his sandy _other_ raised its head, but it was only Mycroft. The red wolf sat in the corner of the room as far as it could get from the still figure in the bed. He whined, and it was a distressed noise that called to the sandy wolf to offer comfort. Cautiously John crossed the room holding out his hands for Mycroft to see he wasn't threatening. _Change?_ John tried, but Mycroft didn't comprehend. "Change," he said out loud, "Please Myc?" John sat on the floor and waited, until eventually Mycroft's wolf receded and he sat naked in front of him.

"I always knew if Sherlock came back it would be over between us," Mycroft said sadly.

John looked at the floor and sighed. "It was already over Myc, I just didn't realise it. I was trying to get something back… was even prepared to ask you to marry me to prolong it… but I knew even before Sherlock returned that I was just scared to be on my own again. I'm sorry."

"You forgave him everything in less than twenty-four hours. That's when I knew for certain I had no chance. You've made me suffer for weeks for what I did, even though I did it to protect you and the Pack from Marcus."

"Marcus was a symptom, not the cause. If you hadn't brought him back then maybe we would even have survived Sherlock coming home, but I can't forgive you for letting me grieve for him when all the time you knew he was alive. I feel like you tricked me into loving you."

"What I felt… _feel_ for you is real."

"I know, but it's not enough, not now. Sherlock may hate me for what I've done, but I told him that I want to be with him, and if he'll have me then I'm going back to 221b."

Mycroft nodded and rose, going to the bathroom and wrapping himself in a robe. "I know you'll look after him John, just like you always have. I'm nominating you as his handler, whether he likes it or not, so you'll be back at 221b by the end of the week."

Mycroft left and the door locked behind him once more. John wondered what Sherlock would make of the enforced imprisonment, and the whole idea of being a werewolf. He would scoff no doubt and dismiss the idea until someone – John himself most likely – gave him a demonstration, but he would be far more accepting than John had been. His scientific brain would be curious, rather than disturbed. After half an hour on the floor John was starting to stiffen up so he moved to the chair by Sherlock's bed, pulling it to the side so he could rest his hand near to the detective's on the impressively smooth sheets. Tentatively he covered Sherlock's long slim fingers with his own, shorter tanned ones.

"There are wolves in Eastern Europe." Sherlock's voice was strong in the silence, making John jump.

"Sorry, what? Are you awake?"

"Obviously. There are wolf Packs… _Human_ wolves… in Eastern Europe. I encountered two during my absence."

"Right. And… what are you saying?"

"I'm not unfamiliar with the concept of werewolves. I assume this is what is happening to me?"

"You're not…? Ok. Of course, you would know all about it."

"Not all, but enough to not fear it John."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that I could transmit it so easily…"

Sherlock opened one eye and turned his head, simultaneously flipping his hand to grip John's fingers. "Will you stop worrying? Think of the advantages for detection and prevention of crime. I can increase Lestrade's success rate tenfold."

"Um… yeah… about that…"

"But you know what has _really_ pissed me off about this entire situation John? The absolute _worst_ thing you could have done to me?"

"Um…no…"

"For the last thirty-eight years I have prided myself on never doing what Mycroft tells me. Now, not only am I _working_ for him, I'm actually supposed to do _exactly_ what he orders me to. How could you do this to me John?"


	31. Epiloguge

**A/N: Well, this is the end! It's been so much fun to write and I think I got all the loose ends :-) It is mushy and sweet - no apologies for a bit of romance to round it off. Oh and the black wolf...**

Epilogue

"What exactly are they doing?" Greg asked John, staring across the room in puzzlement at the two men who had heads bowed together over a pile of books spread over the large dining table at the far end of the Lounge at the Haven. Sherlock's dark curls seemed lighter when pressed against Gabe's dyed black and blue asymmetric cut, but otherwise they were very similar in build and stature. Both men were bare-chested, but where Sherlock's pale torso was largely unmarked, save for a few scars, Gabe was highly decorated over much of his chest, back and shoulders. The silver nipple ring glinted in the light as Sherlock turned Gabe to stand in his desired position, the tattooed man pleased to oblige his new found friend. Sherlock took out a tape measure, asking Gabe to hold the end against the centre of his chest as he wrapped it around the man's back coming to meet in the middle. He took note of the measurement and then both men stared at the laptop as Sherlock keyed it in.

"Sherlock is conducting an investigation into the ratio of our human form to the wolf, and Gabe has volunteered as his assistant. Apparently we all have to be measured at some point, once they've formulated their theories, but until then we're safe from the tape measure. I think there's a bit of hero worship going on," chuckled John, glancing fondly at the pair who were now flicking through a weighty tome. "They've found a whole load of books about werewolves and they're trying to sort the facts from the mythology. It's keeping him out of trouble anyway."

"Hm, he's hogging my boyfriend time," grumbled Greg, but it was good-natured. He smiled across at Gabe who grinned back happily, deep green eyes twinkling from the dark shadowed eyeliner. Greg winked at him and the young man blushed.

"What's going on with you two? You've been giggling and winking at each other all week like teenagers."

"Nothing," Greg blushed, but he was grinning from ear to ear. "I suppose I just have to get used to not calling him my boyfriend anymore." He waggled the fingers of his left hand and John was shocked to see what looked suspiciously like a silver… _wedding ring?_

"Fucking hell, you got _married_? _When?_"

"Monday afternoon I believe - registry office around the corner. Two witnesses off the street." Sherlock said without looking up from the laptop. "Gabe's wearing one too – has been since Monday certainly. They both went out around four dressed like they were going for a job interview, and were back a couple of hours later with a bottle of champagne and wearing rings. Honestly John, I thought I taught you to observe?"

"Well, I… um… congratulations! Why the hell weren't we invited? Does anyone know? And why didn't you tell me Sherlock?" he said accusingly to the detective.

"It wasn't my news to tell," he replied. "If they wanted you to know they'd tell you in their own good time. I did congratulate them however on Tuesday morning over breakfast."

"You grumbled that our wedding night activities kept you awake half the night! I'm not aware the word 'congratulations' left your lips," chuckled Greg. "Emma knows… Gabe asked if she thought I'd say yes, what with my unsuccessful marital history. It was one of the reasons we didn't want to make a big thing of it."

"_Gabe_ asked _you_? Well done Gabe! Once everyone's together again, we're having a celebration, my treat," John smiled. "I'm thrilled for you both, really. I guess this means you're pretty much 'out' at work now then Greg? Pretty hard to keep a husband secret for long."

Greg laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, I made a bit of an announcement yesterday. It got a mixed reaction, shall we say? Most of them were great, but there were plenty sniggers and jibes too, even more so when I told them about the age difference. I think I've heard every paedophile and dirty old man joke going." Gabe dropped into his lap, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek.

"Other people don't matter. We love each other and that's all that counts."

"Yeah… We're moving Gabe to my flat over the weekend if you're up for helping us?" The other two men readily agreed, although they all suspected Sherlock would adopt a more directorial role than box moving.

Emma and Mary came in bearing a huge box of assorted cakes that they'd picked up from the local bakery. "Calories anyone?" Mary called. "We're planning Sherlock's first run and thought we'd load up on some goodies first. It might stop Sherlock being seduced by a rabbit, like a certain doctor we know…" She giggled and John threw a cushion at her, Sherlock looking at him curiously.

"Another story for another time. Like sometime never!" he growled and the girls, Greg and Gabe laughed at the memory of John's soaking wet wolf clambering from the pond at the end of John's first run. "Are you looking forward to it Sherlock?"

The detective closed his laptop and crossed the room to drop on the sofa beside his friend, scooping up a custard slice in his large hand first and biting into it carefully. The custard still oozed out the sides and dropped onto his chin, the yellow glob of sweet vanilla sitting temptingly below his lower lip. John reached out a finger and swept it away, licking it off his finger, and Sherlock blushed and smiled shyly at the small man. "Um… yes, looking forward to it very much. My change is much faster now, and I really want to feel the difference in the way my body moves in wolf form. I need to document it all. How much will I remember when I change back to human?"

"Quite a lot actually, although your wolf tends not to be too bothered about what your human part wants. It's much more a creature of instinct and desire, not very analytical. You might change intending to examine a specific behaviour, but your wolf will probably decide that catching a squirrel or rolling in deer shit is far more fun," laughed Greg.

"Oh god, keep away from squirrels," groaned John. "The little beasts are a torment. They scamper up and down trees just to wind you up."

They cleared away their dishes, storing the remaining cakes in the fridge and readying themselves for their run. When they were all gathered in the hall Gabe stepped forward. "Um, before we go, Greg and I have some news. We got married." Sherlock and John clapped their hands over their ears to drown out the girls' screams of delight as they threw themselves onto the two men, hugging and kissing them until they batted them away.

"Hm, remind me John, if we ever marry to announce it long distance." John stared at him mouth agape and Sherlock's eyes crinkled mischievously. The detective shrugged. "Well, one day I might ask you I suppose."

It was freezing in the park and they shivered noisily as they hurriedly undressed in the thicket and stuffed their clothes into backpacks. None of them lingered, changing as soon as they were sure their belongings were secure. The wolves' thick pelts were a blessing in the frosty December night, even warmer than the thick coats, hats and gloves they shed. Fortunately the snow that was forecast hadn't arrived so they were able to run in the park freely without the danger of leaving tell-tale paw prints that would cause a sensation on the local news if they were discovered. Sherlock was indeed fast in his change as if he'd been a wolf for years not just four weeks and within minutes the sandy wolf found himself knocked flying by a rich chocolate-brown furry tornado that wanted to play!

Sherlock's wolf bounded around the sandy one like a playful puppy, nipping at his paws and bouncing away, tail wagging. Soon Gabe's black wolf and Emma's white joined in the game that seemed to be 'let's annoy the sandy one until he chases us'. John kept his dignified stance right up to the point Mary and Greg barrelled into the game, and then they were off, darting across the lawn and through the bushes, jumping at one another and tumbling down the banks. They raced to the north towards the tempting foreign smells from the zoo and ran up and down the deserted pathways scrabbling in bins for half eaten picnics. Sherlock stumbled upon a fox feasting on a hamburger. It foolishly tried to hold its ground against the much bigger wolf, and perhaps it would have won the battle with Sherlock being inexperienced as he was, but the fox turned tail and ran when five more of the huge beasts appeared over the hill.

The run concluded without incident, but with plenty of data for Sherlock and Gabe to compile on their return. They dressed and decided to walk back to the Haven so they could stop for hot chocolate at a late-night café on the way. At 3am they were the only customers, so the proprietor added a plate of biscuits to their order and they all munched and drank contentedly, letting the sweet warm chocolate warm them from the inside out. John was crushed against Sherlock's side with Mary on his left. It was difficult to co-ordinate their arms without jostling each other and he self-consciously shifted a little sideways to give them both more room. They hadn't kissed since the night of the bomb, outside the carriage when they both expected to die, and apart from the odd teasing comment Sherlock had given him no indication that he still wanted a relationship with John, so it surprised him when Sherlock's arm slid around his waist and shuffled him more closely against him. Opposite them in the booth Gabe and Greg grinned at John's flushed face, which grew even redder when the detective dropped a fond kiss on the top of his head.

"So Sherlock, has this evening been everything you hoped it would be?" Gabe asked lightly.

"Still working on it," he winked and kissed John's hair again. They were ready to leave soon after, dropping money and a generous tip onto the table. Sherlock didn't release John immediately, holding them back when the others slid from the booth. Greg ushered them outside leaving the two men behind.

"Um, Sherlock… They're leaving…"

"Yes. Your powers of observation are astounding John Watson, and yet sometimes you can be incredibly dim."

"What?"

Sherlock leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips across John's questioning mouth. His lips were slightly parted and the taller man risked a tiny dart of his tongue between them making John shiver. "Oh!" Was all he said, less than intelligently, before Sherlock closed once more and they were kissing with fervour. When they broke apart some long minutes later their lips were swollen and they were both a little breathy. "Shall we go?" asked the detective and the doctor nodded.

They ran down the street to catch up with the rest of their giggling group, and arrived back at the Haven just as Mycroft, Anthea and Daniel appeared. The newcomers were brought up to date with the events of the evening, Mycroft congratulating Greg and Gabe on their marriage, and Anthea offering Sherlock a "Well done Holmes" on his first run without falling into a pond or any other mishap. Mycroft's face was carefully blank when he spotted his brother and John Watson hand in hand, but he made no comment and they all headed upstairs where somehow two bottles of expensive champagne appeared to toast the happy couple.

Across the street in the shadows a slim dark haired man watched the happy group enter the building. He was naked but didn't seem to feel the cold at all. He made a furious noise in his throat and frowned at the tall dark curly haired man who should _not_ be standing on the opposite pavement. Could a Holmes not even stay dead for Christ's sake? Bad enough he had to deal with the manipulative elder - and he would still bring him down one day, oh yes - but now the sexy, younger brother was all wolfie too and that was going to be _so_ annoying. He needed a new plan to accommodate this new development and the loss of that idiot Moran who couldn't even flick a switch correctly. Oh well... It would be good to see the Holmes boys again when he was ready for them. He was sure they'd missed him...

The end

**A/N: Disclaimer - i do not obviously own Sherlock in any of it's forms and no disrespect is intended to any of the material reproduced which cannot of course be improved upon in any way :-) This was just an AU imagining that got slightly out of hand lol**


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